


My Past Will Always Catch Up

by Allanasha



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Coercion, Cruciatus Curse (Harry Potter), Depression, Evan Rosier deserves his own warning, Light BDSM, Light Bondage, M/M, Mild torture, Minor Knife Play, Possessive Behavior, minor blood play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:35:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 32,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25864447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Allanasha/pseuds/Allanasha
Summary: After the deaths of both Ron and Hermione in their seventh year, Harry ran. The pressure was too much. They thought he'd be back, after he realized they needed him. But he never returned, just ran and hid in the one place he was sure no one would look for him.
Relationships: Harry Potter/Voldemort
Comments: 69
Kudos: 275





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewriting of a fic I started 11 years ago. It's posted on FF.net. I'm also posting the rewritten version there. We'll see what comes of it.

They were killed on a raid.

Dumbledore had assured their safety; said they would be fine. There wasn’t supposed to be anyone there. Empty. Unguarded. Everyone would be distracted elsewhere. Harry was needed elsewhere. 

Ron told him they’d be fine. Hermione said they’d be careful, and left after hugging him. He’d never liked being hugged, but he’d put up with worse to have them back again.

Dumbledore had promised their safety. He was wrong. Very wrong. Seven Death Eaters waited for them, along with Him. 10 of the order died. Three Death Eaters joined them. None of it mattered. Voldemort killed Ron and Hermione.

Harry watched it happen. In the middle of the important gathering meant to draw Voldemort’s attention, Harry was dragged into a vision. He watched them scream; watched them writhe on the ground. He watched a green light snuff out their life.

He didn’t watch them beg. Not once. Right at the end, Hermione looked straight at Voldemort, at Harry within him, defiant until the end. 

“Be strong, Harry,” she said, as though she knew.

Harry broke that night. He grieved as he’d never done before. He screamed, and yelled. Vases, mirrors, and dishes shattered around him. He cried. He refused to fight, couldn’t bring himself to do it, to look past the fact his friends, the only family that ever mattered, were dead. 

No one could snap him out of it. 

Dumbledore apologized for yet another mistake in a long line of them. 

“My source was wrong, my boy. I never would have risked them otherwise.”

“Find a new source,” Harry said, drained of anger; drained of tears; drained of care. 

Eventually, he left. Snuck out in the middle of the night, desperate to get away from their smothering. He’d needed time to himself, time away from the constant guarding. He hadn’t cared if Voldemort found him. He hadn’t cared about anything. Hadn’t for weeks.

It was dawn, hours later, before Harry realized he didn’t have to go back. He could just keep walking. He didn’t need anything. Not really. He had his wand. He didn’t need his trunk. His cloak. His memories. It would only lead people to him.

Even his wand was a risk, but he couldn’t bring himself to snap it. The thin stick was as much a part of him as Ron and Hermione were. Had been. 

He kept walking.

They were taken from him. Both Dumbledore and Voldemort were responsible. Dumbledore sent them to the slaughter, and Voldemort killed them. They were the reason he didn’t care anymore. The world could burn around them, and he wouldn’t look back.

After all, what good was a savior who’d stopped caring?

Five years passed without him looking back once. 

Sometimes, late at night when his defenses fell, when Little Harry continued to grieve in the dark, he wondered what became of them. Who won the war? Had Dumbledore defied prophecy and triumphed? Or had Voldemort claimed victory? Was anyone still looking for him?

Never once did he feel shame. They had taken everything from him, and gave nothing in return. The Wizarding World could burn. It had nothing he wanted. It was no longer his concern. 

The world was a large place. A man could be forever lost, if he wanted. 

“Raven, you’re up.”

He glanced up from the mirror, nodding once to show he’d heard. Raven, a temporary name given to him years ago. Another layer between him and who he used to be. 

Green eyes, blank of emotion flickered over his face, checking everything was in order. His scar, the only true way to recognize him, was covered. Without it, he was just a muggle look-a-like. A nobody to be overlooked and forgotten. Without it, he could safely hide in plain sight and never worry. 

He was still short and slight in stature, but the years had given him a grace where there hadn’t been before. Dueling and dancing didn’t have much in common, but one needed awareness of their body, an ease in their own skin. He had it. He’d developed it during the war, and honed it at the club. 

He rose, turning to the stage. It was his job to give them what they wanted. It always had been. Only the how had changed.

Anything was better than where he had been. He was never going back.


	2. Chapter 1

His music was different from theirs. His act was just as different. Where they danced, and stripped, and teased, he just danced. Even that didn't quite describe what he did. His act was a teasing of their imagination. Of what could be, if only he allowed it. He was a living fantasy upon the stage, and no one was allowed to touch him.

His music wasn't particularly loud, or particularly fast. It was erotic, with a deep beat felt in the soul. A pulse pounding through him, urging him ever higher until the climax.

Tonight's song started soft, a barely there whisper of things to come that rose with the light, revealing him alone on the stage, lain out as though asleep. With the light up, the music rose from it's soft, haunting refrain. And he rose with it.

Lust hung in the air, tinged heavily with arousal left over from the previous acts. It soaked through the room, it's scent deepening as he pulled them deeper into his fantasy.

Tonight was different. Magic. It wasn't strong. Or threatening. A presence somewhere in the room watched him, but it was a taste of what he'd left behind, of what he let himself feel so rarely.

This wasn't the first time someone had come to see him. To see the Potter look-a-like. They all went away again, unhappy, displeased. Disheartened that he wasn't their vanished savior. They couldn't even get relief with him. He never took anyone home, unlike some of his coworkers.

The magic was different. Familiar in that distant way a face is familiar, but the situation around that recognition impossible to place.

 _Doesn't matter_.

Nothing mattered anymore. He would dissuade them like all the rest and continue on his way. Harry Potter didn't exist on this stage. He didn't exist off it. Harry Potter was gone.

These thought spun around his head as he ground against the pole in the center of the stage. His eyes flashed out among the viewers, not looking for the wizard in their midst. He'd never have seen him anyway.

His eyes were dark, predatory, losing their usual blankness the moment he was on stage. Someone once told him he was temptation made flesh, as though that would change him mind about them. He couldn't see through the stage lights, but they didn't care. Each look could be for them. Just for them. It was their fantasy. He was just along for the ride. It didn't matter if they were picturing him in another situation. That was the point. A personal fantasy mass produced.

Money flashed at the end of the stage. A glance revealed where the highest bills were, and as the music changed, he slid down the pole. On all fours, he crawled to the edge of the stage, taking time to make each movement flow into the next. Letting a touch of that predatory gaze filter into his prowling.

More than one person had told him he resembled one of the large cats, beautiful and deadly, but impossible to stay away from. He never told anyone his animagus was a panther. Only Ron and Hermione knew, and they were dead.

At the edge of the stage, he sat up, sliding his hands up the stage, up his thighs - still fit and shaped well from dancing, up along either side of his cock encased leather pants as his head fell back in silent ecstasy.

They hesitate with the music, and he breaths through it, chest rising in the silence, falling with the next beat. Nearby, someone groans lowly. Another bill dropped onto the pile slowly building before him.

His hands continue up his torso, bare but for the oil slicked over him. They glide up as his teeth catch his bottom lip, pulling into his mouth, biting down as his hands brush his chest. His neck.

A deep breath, and his hands mess his hair on their way into the air. He rose to his knees, stretching up, straining as though someone, or something, held him taut.

He could feel it in the air. Their lust. Their need. Their desire. It was a drug he never tired of. The power he had over them, intoxicating. More bills spread before him.

Gradually, the music lowered again. He leaned back, gently lowering his back to the stage, his legs still twisted up on either side of him. The backs of his hands brushed the stage above his head. Another pause allowed him to hold the position, the casual languidity of the pose.

Again, the music rose and fell, taking his torso with it. His hands never left the stage, and his head only rarely. He knew what it looked like, had perfected it until it was exactly what he needed. That was the point.

He was a living, breathing fantasy. Something they could see, but not touch. Never touch. That wasn't allowed.

He wasn't much of a dancer. He didn't really dance on stage. He had sex under the lights, in front of dozens of people. But his partner wasn't someone they could see. They didn't care that he felt nothing, during or after, and their stench followed him backstage, crumpled bills held tight in his hands, and tucked into his pants - a show to keep them interested.

Some of the others had seen his act. One of them raked eyes over his slim figure. They'd done it before, as had others. It wasn't anything new. He ignored them all, and they let him be.

Sliding into his chair, he gazed at his disheveled reflection. He'd let his hair grow a few inches over the years, just enough to make it obey him. It fell about his head in gentle ripples rather than the unmanageable mess of his school years.

If he had to run again, he'd grow it longer. Maybe pass for a girl for awhile, just until he was sure he was safe. He didn't want to leave yet. Tentative as they were, he'd put down roots here. He didn't hate anyone, even if he wasn't particularly close to anyone either.

But, the magical signatures were getting more common. His own had been locked tight within him for years, hiding from discovery, but that wouldn't stop a strong wizard from feeling him within the same room. Someone like Dumbledore. Or Voldemort. If they tried. And then he'd be dragged back.

_Best to leave before that._

Leaving England entirely would be his best option, despite the paintings of regret that garnered. He pushed them down, sealing away with everything else he'd constantly tried to forget over the years.

The other dancers moved around him, keeping up an easy chatter. They continued to include him in their banter, despite his short responses. Despite his continued refusal to connect. A small, almost unheard part of him ached for it, but he knew better than to give in. It would only hurt more when he left. And he'd had enough pain to last a lifetime.

His eyes had changed the most, still the brilliant green he'd inherited from his mother, but empty husks. If eyes were the windows to the soul, then he didn't have one anymore. Or, if he did, there was little enough of it to matter.

He'd been nothing since Ron and Hermione were killed. Since the worst of the grief left him empty. They say that time was the best healer. Not for him. Time had only turned him into a shadow. Someone going through the motions, with only the occasional interest in his surroundings. Surviving.

His friends had been his sanity in the chaos surrounding them. They were the single bright spot in the darkness present in every aspect of their lives. When they died, they took everything with them. His sanity. His care. His reason to fight. They'd been the real heroes of the war. The saviors of the savior.

A smirk twisted his lips, amusement flickering dimly before it faded like everything else. It didn't matter anymore.

Reaching down, he pulled his bag into his lap. Inside was his wand, always near, but never years. In five years, he'd accessed his magic half a dozen times, when the pressure was too much; when he needed to feel something; when the nostalgia, the shame, was at its strongest.

Now, his hand slipped in, wrapping fingers around the cool wood. The rush of magic was calming, but dangerous. He knew better. A wizard was outside. They could feel it, feel him. And yet, his grip only tightened.

 _Who is it?_ He wondered.

"Raven?"

He glanced up, blinking at Jake - not his stage name - as he leaned against the vanity. He released his wand, letting it disappear into the depths of his bag once more.

"Want to come out with us?" Jake asked. "Just getting a drink, maybe complain about work. Just hand, you know?"

"No. Thank you." He always turned them down, but they always kept asking. They never let him retreat away from them completely.

"You sure?" Jake asked. "We'd like to have you. Really."

"I'm sure," he said, casting about for something today. "I'm not a big drinker."

"Aight." Jake shrugged. "You don't _have_ to drink, you know. But, I don't want to push you." He grinned. "Maybe another time?"

"Maybe."

Still grinning Jake crossed to another dancer, draping himself across their back. Soon after, laughter rang in the room. Jake was one of the few who respected his distaste of physical touch without question. He never tried to initiate anything, though everyone else was free game.

Their evening ended an hour later. Fully dressed, they left the club and went their separate ways.

"Bye, Raven, see you tomorrow."

He waved back, content with the silence as he broke away from the crowd. He heard them whispering after him. He didn't need to hear the words. They thought he was hurting, that he was broken by someone years ago. All their attempts to fix him had failed, but he'd become the pet project of them all. It would be touching if he could eel anything other than unceasing numbness.

They were right, of course. He was broken. He'd shattered into a thousand pieces scattered on the wind with no hope of recovering any of it.

_And all the king's horses, and all the king's men, couldn't put Humpty together again._

The night closed around him, broken only by the occasional streetlamp. The tension slowly bled from him the further from work he walked. The dark had never bothered him. His cupboard was dark, and it was the only place the Dursley's never touched him. Night was the only time they left him alone. It was the only time people couldn't stare at him, or whisper behind his back. The early hours after midnight when everyone was snug in their beds were the only times the hallways of Hogwarts were free of noisy, curious children who just wanted to look.

The night had been a sanctuary for him, protecting him from them even when he'd been one. Even now, it was an armor. He could huddle down in his coat - light because even in the summer the nights were cool, and no one so much as glanced at him. Just another kid out too late. He hadn't been a child for years, but the night allowed him to blend it. To become invisible enough.

He turned down another street, content with his solitude, already thinking of his warm bed. The nothingness of sleep. The quiet of his apartment.

A crash caught his attention. It wasn't unusual. Even at this time of night, stray cats prowled, knocking things over and startling themselves away from the bounty they'd found. If not a cat, raccoons were still common in the city.

Nothing moved in the dark. Shadows stretched across the street, giving nothing away. And yet, his neck prickled. Something was wrong. Turning away, he slipped his hand into his bag. Knife or wand?

A knife would do him little good against a wizard, but a wand would draw pointless attention if it were a muggle. He'd have to leave immediately.

His fingers wrapped around his wand.

" _Stupefy!"_

He didn't have time to react. The years had dulled his reflexes. The world faded and spun as he collapsed to the ground

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Grimmauld Place was loud. Too loud. Too busy. Too crowded. For the moment, his tears were dry, but it wouldn't last. It never did. Across the room, Crookshanks huddled down. He hissed at anyone who came near him, scratched anyone who tried to touch him._

_He knew. He'd known as soon as they returned. Before, likely._

_Harry was the only one he allowed near, but even he wasn't allowed to touch the feline. They shared a grief, and neither would be comforted out of it._

_Crookshanks stared at the door like it was a rat he was waiting to emerge. His tail - as bushy as Hermione's hair - twitched behind him. Nothing drew his attention from the door, and nothing drew Harry's attention from the cat. Time passed unnoticed between them, absorbed as they were with staring._

_Finally, with a sinking feeling, Harry realized what Crookshanks wanted._

_Harry stood, limbs heavy and hard to move. He'd been sitting too long. How long had it been since he'd last risen? Since he'd done anything but sit and stare?_

" _Harry?"_

_He ignored Molly, moving towards the door that was Crookshanks' sole focus._

" _Harry, what are you doing? Where are you going?"_

" _Nowhere."_

_He opened the door. Crookshanks bolted through the opening before it was more than a crack. Harry watched him go. The feline never stopped. Even before he lost sight of it, Harry knew the cat wouldn't come back. Without Hermione, there was nothing to hold him here._


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's chapter two. A little later than I'd hoped I'd have it out, but it's been hot, and I haven't wanted to do anything.
> 
> So, in the last version, this was two chapters, word count totaling just over 5,200 words. This one is almost 5,700 words. And, next chapter is going to be completely new before I come back with chapter 4, which will be another rewrite, with some new content added in.
> 
> Hope you enjoy.

Consciousness did not return smoothly. It was not a slow, gentle transition from dreams to waking. He woke with a jerk, eyes snapping open, body tensing for the inevitable fight.

Darkness greeted him. He relaxed into it. Whatever happened, the danger wasn't immediate. The room's only noises were his. The rustle of jeans over concrete. The scrape of flesh sliding along the ground. The sigh of each breath as he catalogued everything. He couldn't see, but that didn't make him blind.

He was calm - he was always calm - as he glanced around his surroundings. There was no speck of light to see by. Nothing to give his eyes something to latch onto.

 _Windowless_. Even a moonless night could be seen by. The nearly full one should have lit everything up, allowing him to see everything around him. His eyes played tricks on him, attempting to convince him something moved within the room, though every other sense told him there was nothing. He closed his eyes.

The air was cool. Cooler than the summer evening had been. He was underground, which explained the silence surrounding him. Someone didn't want to risk losing him.

Feeling around for his bag, he was unsurprised to find it missing. Disappointed, but not surprised. He'd been found. By who remained unknown, but neither option would want him disappearing again.

_If they looked through my bag …_

His heart raced. He breathed deeply, knowing it would go away. Nothing lasted long. In seconds, the faint panic flickered from existence, leaving him free to think once more.

Rising, he carefully found a wall. His hands guided him around the perimeter until he found the door. Wood. Smooth. Sturdy. There wasn't the slightest creak as he shoved his weight against it. There was no handle on his side. Nothing to help his escape.

He returned to the middle of the room and sat. His options were limited. Escape required his wand, which someone had. Dumbledore wouldn't have put him in a dark cell. Unless time had considerably changed him, he would have woken in a hospital bed with the man at his side, terribly disappointed.

The cell, the dark room, was more Voldemort's style. He'd prefer his victims to worry themselves into a frenzy. They'd be afraid before the wizard ever saw them. Harry had never let fear control him, but it had been five years. Maybe Voldemort thought his resolve had weakened.

 _Or they think I'm a muggle_.

If they thought he was a Potter look-a-like, they might just plan on killing him. It wouldn't be quick. It certainly wouldn't be painless. But, it would be better than if they knew who he was. Death wasn't the worst thing that could happen to him. As Dumbledore had said, 'Death is the next great adventure,' and he'd had enough of this one. Maybe this was the end. Maybe he didn't have to run again. Maybe he just had to give in, and let it happen.

Relief filled him to tears. It was the most intense he'd felt anything for years. It left him gasping, but even it didn't last long. Like anything else, it faded into nothing.

_How odd._

Voldemort never brought relief before. Fear. Pain. Possible death. Panic. Worry. Anger. But never relief. Never anything so benign. But, he would bring everything to an end. No more running. No more hiding. No more pain. Just nothing. Peace. Even if he knew, there was only so long Voldemort could prolong his death.

Time ticked by in silence. He had outgrown the need to fill silence with noise, if he ever had it. He sat in the dark, waiting for the inevitable. Without his wand, there was nothing he could do. Fretting wouldn't change anything. He wasn't sure he could fret if he wanted to.

Finally, the door opened, spilling light into the room. He cringed back, the lights blinding, despite shut eyes and a hastily raised arm. He blinked rapidly behind the supposed safety of his arm, eyes slowly adjusting to the change. He wouldn't have long.

There were two people in the light. They spoke quietly, too softly for him to make out, but it gave him time for his eyes to adjust. By the time he could see, they were silent, staring at him. He gazed back, leaning on one arm as though nothing mattered. As though he had no worries. No fears. No cares in the world.

The light behind them hid everything in shadow. Neither were Voldemort. He wouldn't want their final confrontation to be in a dingy cell where no one could see. If they knew who he was, his death would be a spectacle before every Death Eater. If they didn't, he would be the entertainment. This evening's muggle killing done at leisure. Either way, he would die here.

"Where am I?" he asked, voice steady and unconcerned. As blank as his eyes and as unimpressed. "Get up," the right one demanded, pointing his wand. The voice was unfamiliar.

Harry blinked at it, knowing the part he had to play. He flowed to his feet, dueling and dancing making the movement easy. The men shifted, their unease clear, even without definitive features.

They'd never been to the club. There was nothing inelegant about him. He'd worked hard to say that. Everything was a show. The slightest misstep broke the illusion. Shattered the fantasy. He wasn't allowed to stumble, to groan, or cringe. That practice had translated to every aspect of his life.

"Get over here!"

He didn't obey immediately, taking the time to brush himself off. To straighten his clothing. The wizard started to growl out his order again just as Harry began to move. His movements were slow and purposeful. Graceful. Elegant. He had learned from the best. Dark Wizards all. Severus Snape and Lucius Malfoy never let anything rush them. They always sure footed as they swept through a room. Even Voldemort had helped his education. They'd all had a hand, however unknowing, in teaching Raven how to walk.

The other dancers had completed his education. A twist of the hip. A twitch of the shoulder. A tilt of the head. In the right situation, he oozed sex, and even straight men stared at him. Their anger could be dangerous, but these two wouldn't be allowed to touch him. Not yet. In this moment, he was untouchable, and he used it to his advantage.

The first backed up, keeping his wand out of Harry's reach. The second grabbed him. He twitched, the unwelcome touch crawling over his skin. The man chuckled, jerking him out of the cell. The desire to see him stumble failed. Several quick steps kept him from losing his balance. He stopped when he could, turning to face the unknown wizard with a single arched eyebrow.

The man snarled. As his rough grip led Harry away from the cell, he took in the dark robes. He'd only seen one group wear them. Death Eaters.

He was going to die.

They dragged him up stairs and down a corridor. Their pace was quick. Anytime he slowed, a wand jabbed at his back, and the one in front attempted to jerk his arm out of its socket. He had no time to look around. No time to take in his surroundings. No time to memorize their path.

 _That's the point_.

They wanted him off kilter and desperate. They wanted to laugh. To taunt. They wanted weak Harry Potter thrown at their feet. They were going to get Raven. He was going to die, but they wouldn't get any satisfaction from it.

They only passed a few on their way, none of which he recognized. All of them wore Death Eater robes, without masks, but none had faced him before.

His scar burned, announcing the arrival of their destination. Beyond a twitch of the eye, nothing showed. It had been years since he'd felt it last - strange now that he thought about it, how Voldemort hadn't shoved his way in to find Harry - but it was an old pain. Easily dealt with.

A set of large double doors opened before them, allowing them through. They closed immediately after, trapping him in. His pulse fluttered in his throat. Fear?

_When was the last time I was afraid?_

He couldn't remember.

A shove sent him forward and to his knees, which hit the pristine marble. He grunted as pain shot up his legs, dull and distant compared to the fire in his head. He caught himself on his hands before he sprawled across the floor.

He held himself for a moment, breathing through the pain, though another surge of fear and panic. He looked up once it all had faded away. In front of him, seated on his towering throne, was the Dark Lord Voldemort.

He'd changed over the years, startlingly so. His hair had grown back - chocolate brown locks gave him a more imperial appearance. His lips had filled out. HIs nose had even begun to regrow. His face looked less serpentine. More finished. Only his eyes remained the same, crimson orbs split down the middle like a snake's.

He gazed down at Raven like a predator certain of his victory. This was good, he decided. He'd never been good at pretending horror. Now, he wouldn't have to.

Raven sat up, brushing his hands off against his pants.

"Harry Potter, so good of you to join us," Voldemort hissed.

He had a moment to decide. They suspected who he was, but did they know? Would they believe him either way? Did it matter?

He frowned without replying and pushed himself to his feet. His knees twinged in protest, but he ignored them, and they didn't impede his rise. He carefully brushed off his clothes, straightening out the lines until he was wrinkle free once more.

"The name is Raven," he said, eyes taking in the rest of the room. Here, he recognized faces. Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Bellatrix Lestrange were at the front, eagerly watching. Everyone he'd fought in his youth was present to watch his demise. Other than the two who'd dragged him here, everyone in the room knew him.

"Normally," he continued, not trying to force him voice to anything but it's normal emptiness, "if someone wants my attention, they ask for it." His eyes went back to Voldemort. "I don't normally do private parties."

A smirk, a cock of the hips, a twitch of the eyebrow and he was everything he'd trained to be. Everything the last five years had made him. Nothing the Dark Lord was expecting.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed. "Yes," he drawled. "I've been told about what you've become. And where you've hidden yourself."

Raven frowned, eyes narrowing around a flash of irritation. "I haven't hidden myself anywhere."

A lie. A necessary one. He would rather die a muggle than be dragged back to the war as a dead symbol of Voldemort's victory.

Voldemort rose from his throne with the predatory grace Raven had stolen and made his own. He seemed to glide across the ground. Despite himself, Raven watched, taking notes on how to improve his own attempts - _Why? I'm not going to survive today._ The man was a heartless bastard, but he did know how to move.

He stopped too close. Raven's head burned, his attention wavering a moment as he wrangled himself back under control. He refused to let the pain show. Not now. Not here.

"Come now, Harry," Voldemort purred, his wand reaching out between them, not quite touching Harry. "You can't fool us."

Raven took a step back, his frown deepening. Raven didn't have to prove his worth to anyone here. He turned away, looking for the door.

Long, slim fingers gripped his arm, thankfully over cloth, jerking him back to the Dark Lord. Raven's teeth ground down in displeasure.

"Don't. Touch. Me."

"Are you afraid, Harry Potter? Running away again?"

"No," Raven answered, expression smoothing out once more as the anger left him as quickly as it came. "More disgusted really. A bit bored perhaps."

The Dark Lord sneered, shoving Raven away. This time, he did stumble back.

" _Crucio!"_

Raven's single step back sent him crashing to the ground. He screamed. Harry would have fought it, but Raven had nothing to prove. His body arched off the ground, seizing away as pain coursed through him. It never helped, but the body never learned. It could never lie quietly under the cruciatus. A body always fought. Always failed.

The spell lifted. Raven sagged to the ground, breathing heavily after the onslaught. He didn't move, silent and waiting. He steadied his breathing, slowly calming himself as Voldemort circled him, silent as a whisper. He felt the man's eyes boring into him, attempting to decipher the mystery he represented.

Raven pushed himself onto his back. His eyes opened, following the wizard. Red met green. Raven sat up, one arm holding his weight as his eyes narrowed on Voldemort.

"That was a neat trick," he managed, voice a touch more strangled than he'd have liked. "Not exactly my kink, but I'm sure someone would appreciate it."

It likely didn't have the same effect as if some of his coworkers had said it, but he had learned how to snark, however dry it came out. Still, it bought him time as, he attempted to convince his body to stop twitching. The cruciatus was bad. Prolonged contact, worse. He'd been under it before, several times over the war, but he'd forgotten how a body betrayed him after.

The man's gaze was thoughtful, considering. He said nothing. Raven arched an eyebrow. He wasn't much for talking these days, but normally Voldemort liked to monologue. He wasn't normally quiet.

As they locked eyes,he felt it. A presence ripping its way into his head. He let it, didn't try to fight it. He'd never been good at Occlumency anyway.

Voldemort tore through him. Pain followed him through his memories. Old and new whizzed through his head as the Dark Lord shoved his way deeper.

~*~*~

" _What's your name kid?"_

_He's sitting in an office. Across from him, and old man who runs the place, or so he claims, with kind eyes. He eyes him carefully, weighing his worth. His potential. His worth._

" _...Raven."_

_The man snorted. "Sure it is. Look, kid, I don't normally hire someone so young. What makes you think you can cut it?"_

_He shrugged. "I know what people want,"he said. "I can give it to them."_

" _Can you? That's a bold claim."_

" _I can show you," he said, voice calm. He hadn't felt anything in months. The cool numbness a relief against endless agony._

~*~*~

" _Just once, the man whispered, voice slurred with heavy drink. "I'd give a fortune to have you under me, Raven."_

" _I don't take anyone home with me."_

" _Doesn't have to be your home."_

" _I don't take customers."_

_The man fell against him, pinning him against the wall._

" _It'll be good," he promised, hands groping at his shirt._

_Raven reached into his bag, and finding the cool metal. Of his knife. Before the man could get his hands anywhere, Raven cut him. Blood welled from the man as he wheeled back, cussing. Threatening. He didn't stay to listen, and the man was too drunk to stay on his feet, let alone follow after him._

~*~*~

" _What about Raven? It's something to call you."_

_He shrugged, letting her fingers brush his arm._

" _Alright," he said, watching her eyes light up. Watching her wrinkles deepen as she smiled._

" _I know it's not your real name," she said. "But it's only temporary, until your memories come back."_

" _It's good. I like it. Thank you."_

~*~*~

" _Of course, dear."_

" _She's dead, son."_

_He dropped back onto the hard plastic seat. "No. she can't be."_

_His own wound was bandaged, hurting little as it jostled at the impact. Tears filled him. He hadn't cried in months. Hadn't needed to._

" _You her kid?"_

" _No." He shook her head. "A friend. I was helping around the house."_

" _I'm sorry for your loss."_

" _Yeah."_

_As the doctor walked away, his eyes lost their sheen. The emotion slowly faded. The grief left him, leaving him empty. Nothing._

~*~*~

" _Are you alright?" The voice was kind, worried._

_He glanced up, vision blurred by the rain he hadn't bothered to wipe away from his glasses._

" _Yes."_

" _You sure? You've been out here a long time, hun. Waiting for someone."_

" _No. No one's coming for me."_

" _Sounds like something I should be apologizing for."_

_He shrugged, hunching in on himself as the wind whipped more rain over him._

" _What's your name?"_

_He shrugged again._

" _Don't you have one?"_

" _Sure."_

" _Well, what is it?"_

" _... Don't remember."_

_The figure knelt in front of him, her umbrella hovering over him as well, protecting him from the rain._

" _You don't remember your name?"_

_He shook his head._

" _What's the last thing you do remember?"_

" _I think I've always been in pain."_

_She made a small noise. Soft, Sympathetic. "Well, I'm Annaliss. Why don't we get you dry, hmm? Maybe that will help something come back."_

~*~*~

Finally, the images stopped. Raven sagged back to the ground, one hand rising to his head as the world swam about him. Voldemort had dug through his every memory for the last five years. He hadn't found anything else. Either, he hadn't looked - improbably - or he hadn't been able to find it.

Had his attempt to forget everything blocked the memories from intrusion? He hadn't heard of anything like that, but what else could it be? He'd never been good at shielding.

Ravens head was jerked back by a hand in his hair. Red met green once more. Raven could only glare at the man looming over him. Voldemort continued to gaze at him thoughtfully. Raven attempted to pull away, but the man's grip tightened, holding him in place. He could do nothing as Voldemort touched him. Could do nothing but cry out as pain swept through him yet again. The man's touch was distantly felt, unimportant against his head splitting open.

When the pain faded, he knew Voldemort had wiped away the make-up hiding his scar. Raven grabbed his head, waiting for it to stop burning. Yet another aspect of his life he didn't miss.

Voldemort still stared at him when the pain dulled to a manageable level. The look in his eyes chilled Raven. He knew the look of a man planning something. And, as always, it had something to do with him.

The man stared at him from inches away, the look heavy with possibility. Raven watched, pushing himself into a seated position, debating the merits of rising further. There was more dignity involved, but it was a longer way to fall, and with the way the last ten minutes had gone, he didn't like his chances of staying up. Dignity or bruises? He stayed on the ground.

"You don't remember, do you?" His voice purred again, the voice of a man already certain of victory. Pleased. His lips spread in a smile.

_Creepy. Disturbing._

If he didn't know the man, it might have been charming. Perhaps pleasant. He did know the man. Raven's eyes narrowed, a sinking suspicion sweeping through him.

"You don't."

Voldemort was pleased. Raven could almost feel the satisfaction in the man.

"Remember what?" He could play along, if he had to. He was smart enough for that.

"Well, well."

Voldemort rose, sweeping away from Raven. He paced in front of his Death Eaters, steps even and controlled. At the end of them, he turned, facing Raven once more, who still had stood.

"Stand up, Harry,"he said, something new entering his voice.

Raven's frown deepened. _What is he planning?_

Silence stretched between them. Voldemort stared at him until Raven finally stood. His body, still weak from the cruciatus rose without a hint that anything was wrong. As he brushed himself clean once more, Voldemort blinked, surprise entering his eyes. He'd expected Raven to scramble to his feet under duress, like so many years before, in a graveyard. He obviously hadn't been paying attention.

Slowly, Voldemort's lips spread once more, this time in approval. Death Eaters worked years to get any sort of approval from the wizard. It was very rarely ever achieved, and Raven got it from merely standing up.

 _Lucky me_. Sarcasm tinged his thoughts as he blinked at the dark lord. _How long is this going to take?_

"It would appear," Voldemort said, turning from Raven to face his Death Eaters, "that our Harry-"

 _Our Harry? Since when am I your Harry?_ The phrase amused him, in some distant, disturbed way. Several of the Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange especially, appeared confused at the sudden change.

"-didn't run away from his lords displeasure-"

_What?_

"He simply forgot." Voldemort turned back to Raven. "Though one must wonder how it is he forgot in the first place."

_The fuck?_

Raven just blinked. Him being an amnesiac came from his own memories, ironically enough. Voldemort had watched him say so, or allude to the fact he was, so it was no surprise that the wizard went that route. But, to try and convince him he'd been one of Voldemort's Death Eaters …"

_Actually, that does sound like something he would do._

He had tried to recruit Harry early on, after trying to kill him several times. Now, just like before, he would use Raven as long as he could, and then kill him. Unless he could get away.

The dark lord approached again, reaching out a hand to touch him. This time, Raven was justified in stepping away. Nobody sane would let that happen again, muggle or wizard, no matter how amnesiatic they were.

Voldemort's lips twisted in the briefest display of irritation, before he covered it with something far too close to indulgence, as though Raven were a wayward child he had to win over. The dark lord's smile had never meant anything good for him.

"Aren't you curious … Raven, why I'm calling you a different name?" he asked. "Or anything else that's happened here?"

Raven blinked twice, mind racing through his options. A small part of him yelled to 'Run, fight, flee!' A larger, more logic part realized playing along was his best bet for survival. His best chance to leave.

Being an amnesiac meant people asked him fewer questions about his past. If he couldn't remember it, he couldn't share it. There were fewer things to keep track of, and it was harder to be caught in a lie. If his memory wasn't there, he couldn't talk about it, which meant a lot of people just stopped trying.

"Harry."

"You're not the first," Raven said, his attention returning to the matter at hand. "Everyone has a name, or a story. I'm a son, a brother, or a lover." His top lip twitched into a faint sneer before it faded into nothing. "As though I can't sense their bullshit."

_So much for playing along._

Placing one hand on his hip, he arched an eyebrow at Voldemort, knowing he was pushing his luck. Unable to stop himself, even as the man's eyes narrowed.

"I'll tell you what I told them. Unless there's proof, it never happened."

There's a long silence as Raven and Voldemort stare at each other. Someone hissed. Female.

_Probably Bellatrix._

It didn't surprise him that she was still alive. Crazy as she was, she was vicious, and she knew her craft - as horrifying as it was. Few people could duel her and survive. Sirius hadn't.

_A red spell. A shocked face falling back into the veil. A cackling laugh. 'I killed Sirius Black!'_

"You were one of us, Harry."

Raven inhaled slowly. He hadn't thought of that in years. Hadn't thought about her. How could on simple sound hold so much memory?

"Of course we have proof."

"What?" The word was out before he could stop himself. Raven blinked at the Dark Lord. Lies and manipulations were his specialty, but surely he didn't expect that to hold up. As soon as he couldn't produce the 'evidence', his lie was over.

Voldemort just smiled. "Of course we do. You were my most loyal supporter, Harry. I know you like nobody else ever has."

There was truth in that statement. They had always been too close, too similar, too different, too in each other's heads. Too obsessed to miss even the smallest detail about the other. It was how Voldemort knew Ron and Hermione would break him. It was how Raven knew the wizard wouldn't stop looking for him. But, that didn't translate into physical proof.

"Why would I run?" Raven asked. "If I was one of your, why would I run? Doesn't sound like something a 'most loyal' would do."

Voldemort shrugged, returning to his throne with the ease of a man who had every angle planned.

"You'd failed your mission, he said. "We assumed the fear of my displeasure made you run. You were still young."

Raven glanced at the Death Eaters. To a one, they'd pulled on their blank masks of easy disdain. None of them were pleased at Voldemort's direction, but none were suicidal enough to contradict him.

"Right."

Asking questions was pointless. Voldemort had been manipulating the truth longer than Raven had been alive. He wasn't going to catch him in a lie. Didn't want to. He just needed an excuse to leave. All he needed was his bag, and a moment alone. Apparition would take care of the rest. Provided he could get somewhere without apparation wards, and without being immediately followed.

"I'll still need physical proof if you want me to believe you."

"Perfectly understandable." Voldemort grinned. "It will, however take a few days to get it together."

"Of course it will.

Red eyes narrowed once more, pale fingers gripping his wand in a silent threat Raven - if he were who he claimed - wouldn't understand. The pain in his head flared.

Against his will, he let out a low hiss, hand raising to his head, touching his scar.

"Ah, yes, your scar. That will continue happening, I'm afraid. At least until you learn to trust me again."

_Never gonna happen._

"It's just a headache," Raven said.

"It's not just anything." Voldemort was grinning again. Raven could hear it. He didn't need to see it too.

"We'll prepare a room for you until-"

"No."

"... No?" The man's voice was low. No one interrupted him. Raven could almost feel the tightening of fingers around a wand. The lifting of it.

" _Crucio!"_

This time, Raven didn't think. He dropped to the ground, letting his weight tumble him to the side, where he rolled once, stopping on his feet, ready to move again, should it be necessary.

Silence greeted him. Again. He hesitated a moment before glancing up. Voldemort was looking at him like he was some rare artifact he was going to unravel. Twenty excuses tumbled through his head. None made it pass his lips.

Raven didn't give excuses. Excuses implied guilt. He rose again, carefully dusting himself off, again, as he ignored Voldemort's look, just as he'd ignored his murderous intent. Outwardly.

Voldemort stared at him. The gaze brought a chill up Raven's spine. Irritation was nothing new. It, and anger, were the two emotions he usually saw in the Dark Lord. Excitement wasn't. Excitement suggested he was pleased.

"I see your time away hasn't dulled your instincts."

"I'm a dancer," Raven said. "Moving is what I do."

There was a cough from the Death Eaters, a low muttering from one or two of them. Raven never took his eyes from the Dark Lord. A moment's inattention could mean pain. A lot of pain.

"You didn't get that reaction from dancing," Voldemort said, rising once more. "You were a sight to behold in a duel, Harry. Strong. Powerful. Quick to act. It came naturally to you."

Raven didn't squirm. Not outwardly. Those were too close to compliments. The Dark Lord didn't compliment anyone unless he wanted something from them. Tom Riddle had been good at that. It made sense Voldemort hadn't lost the ability with his looks.

_And now he's dusting them off for me._

"Sure. It's time for me to go."

"I can't allow that."

"Am I a prisoner, then?" Raven asked, watching the man glide closer, each step increasing the pain in his head. He breathed steadily.

"A guest, Harry. Without your memories, you're in danger."

"From who?"

Voldemort waved the question away. "My will stop at nothing to have you taken from me. You cannot defend yourself against their magic."

"So, don't tell anyone you found me," Raven said. "I have work tonight. Commitments that must be kept. A life that doesn't revolve around anyone's whim but my own."

"They will still find you," Voldemort said, stopping close by, his voice still satisfied.

Voldemort sounded concerned under that. In any other situation, Raven might have been fascinated. He could never show anything he didn't feel, never had. Everyone knew if he was angry, or happy. Or numb. It was doubtful if Voldemort felt anything other than hate and anger, and yet, he could mimic everything as needed.

"It is only luck we found you first, Harry. Your safety is our concern, not your muggle commitments."

He sounded reasonable. If Raven's memories really were gone, he might have believed it.

"If you're so concerned, send a guard," Raven said. "I am not staying here. Not willingly."

He wouldn't be able to run here. He'd be watched constantly, little better than a prisoner as they tried to convince him of their truth. Their reality. He didn't want that.

"After all," Raven continued, unable to help himself, "you could be lying to me. Without proof, you could say anything."

"Come now, Harry-"

"It's Raven." A flash of ire, quickly gone. "It's not unreasonable. You wouldn't want me believing anyone else without proof, would you?"

A moment of silence. "No. I suppose not."

Voldemort stared down at him. Again, silence stretched between them. Over the years, silence had become his friend. He didn't break it, but when Voldemort reached for him again, Raven stepped back.

"You were always so stubborn," Voldemort murmured.

_That might be the only true thing he's said today._

"What happened to you?"

Again, Raven just gazed back without a word. None was needed.

"Lucius!" Voldemort called without turning.

"My lord?"

"You will accompany Harry today." Now, the dark lord's attention shifted. "Make sure no harm comes to him, or you will be severely punished."

Malfoy bowed. "Yes, my lord."

"Lucius is one of our best duelers," Voldemort said, "and he should be able to answer any questions you have."

"Lovely."

Lucius Malfoy was just as Raven remembered him. Tall. Blond. Distinctive. There would be no hiding him, not with the way he peered down his nose at everyone around him. He wasn't doing that, yet. It was the closest Raven had ever seen him to pleasantly neutral. For the first time, Lucius Malfoy was unsure how to act, so he was playing it safe.

_Wonder how that would hold up surrounded by muggles_

Raven shoved the thought away. He wouldn't be around long enough to find out.

Before Raven could ask for his bag - his knife, his wand - his phone rang with the surprisingly dark, cheery sounding song one of the other dancers had added to his phone. He hadn't cared enough to change it, but as every eye turned, he wished he had.

"That's mine," he said, unnecessarily. He doubted any of them had phones. They certainly wouldn't have a muggle artist as their ringtone.

At a motion from Voldemort, Raven's bag was brought forward. Thankfully, his phone was in an outer pocket, or he'd never have gotten it before it went to voicemail. The battery was close to dying. He'd have to make this quick.

"Hello?"

" _You alright, Raven?"_ Jonathan asked. " _This is the second time I've called."_

"Fine. Been away from my phone."

Voldemort was speaking with Malfoy in low tones, likely giving him further instructions, which meant Raven was unable to rush him out.

" _Can you be here in an hour?"_

Raven frowned. "It's short notice."

" _I want to do something big tonight. Something out of the ordinary._ "

"And you want me in it."

" _Raven, you are it."_

His frown deepened. Malfoy and Voldemort were still talking. He turned away, lowering his voice as he spoke. "What is it?"

" _Do you remember that show … a year and a half ago?"_

"There were a lot."

" _The one where we tested your pain tolerance."_

"No."

Voldemort and Malfoy glanced at him. Raven nodded towards the door, not wanting to have this conversation in front of the dark lord. Or his followers. Neither moved.

" _What?"_

"I said no, Jonathan. I refuse to do it again."

Death Eaters would be in attendance until he had a long enough period alone. He refused to let them see him basically being tortured for someone's jollies, or pretending to enjoy it. That wasn't an image he wanted them to have.

" _You sure? Everyone really liked it._ "

Everyone liked everything he did.

"I'm sure."

" _Damn. I'm gonna have to think of something else then. Can you still come in? It may need you anyway."_

"I can … and I may have an idea."

" _Oh?"_

"I won't receive, but I can give."

There was a pause. " _You any good?"_

"Good enough to make them want it."

" _We'll talk more when you get here. See you soon, Raven."_

"What is going on?" Voldemort demanded.

"Club secrets," Raven said, turning away from the man. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"Harry …"

Despite the warning in the tone, Raven started towards the door. He'd already stayed too long.

"I have an hour to wash up and change. You want to know? The show starts at 8."

… _Did I really just invite him to the show?_


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here's chapter three. As promised, it's completely new content. None of this appeared in the last version. It explains a few things, and fills in one important plot hole from the previous version. All in all, I'm not disappointed in it.
> 
> Hope you feel the same.
> 
> Also, I wanted to thank everyone for you kind words and support. It means a lot.
> 
> Allanasha

_Lucius_

It was muggle. Everything about it was muggle. He shouldn't have expected anything else. He suppressed a sneer as Harry Potter waved him inside.

"There's drinks in the fridge," he said.

Lucius didn't know, or want to know, what a fridge was.

Potter tossed his bag on a sear and strode deeper into his home. The boy didn't talk much. It was disconcerting to see the lack of emotion on his face. Potter had always been expressive. Easy to read. Predictable.

This blank expanse wasn't Potter. It was a shell. A shadow of what used to be. Of what could be again, if proper, careful steps were taken.

He had seen Potter's reactions the day Weasley and Granger died. He'd been sent to see the distraction the Order orchestrated. To memorize Potter's reactions. He'd never heard anything so heartbreaking. Even his lord, for all that he'd drunk the boy's reactions like nectar, had appeared shocked at the strength of his reaction.

Lost in his pain, in the vision the Dark Lord trapped him, he shouted and cursed. He fought those who tried to restrain him with flailing arms and errant magic. He cried. He never begged. He screamed. What should have been the satisfaction of an enemy breaking, was a reminder of how young the boy was. How young all of them were.

The plan hadn't been to kill them. Not then, perhaps not every, as they had proven to be powerful and magically adept. They were bait. If the order hadn't retrained him, Potter would have apparated to the Dark Lord. They might still be alive.

The Dark Lord had planned for Potter to find him, full of rage, and pain, and hate, and hurt beyond measure, for a final fight. It never happened. In his rage, the Dark Lord killed Potter's friends. And three months later, whispers of the boy's disappearance filled the Wizarding World.

Lucius had never seen his lord so angry as when he couldn't find Potter. Agents had been sent around Europe, hunting the boy down with nothing to show for it. There wasn't even a hint of Potter's presence anywhere in the world.

_And he's been here all this time._

Water started in the bathroom, leaving Lucius free to snoop around. Lord Voldemort wanted to know everything about Potter's current life. Anything he could use against the boy, or to tie him tighter to their cause.

There was nothing in the main room. No picture of anything important. A painting of a field hung on the way, looking vaguely familiar, and yet unlike anything he'd seen before. Shaking his head, he slipped down the hall and entered the first door which didn't lead to the bathroom.

It was small. A pitiful excuse of a bedroom. Potter could afford better, if he'd had access to any of it. The room was bare, empty of anything but a bed, neatly made and tucked into the corner.

_He doesn't have company._

This couldn't be Potter's room. There wasn't a wardrobe, or a dresser, or anything personal. It was just a room. With a bed. And a window.

Lucius closed the door, moving on. There was only one other door besides the bathroom. Potter's room was sparse. There were no pictures mounted. Clothes - horribly muggle - hung in the wardrobe. Nothing incriminating in the dresser, or under the mattress.

If it weren't for the scar - and the wand they'd found in his bag - Lucius could think this Potter was a fake.

 _Did he take nothing with him?_ Or had he lost it all like his memories?

Lucius continued his search until he heard the water stop. He was back in the main room before the door opened. Steam billowed out around Potter as he exited. He didn't look at Lucius, covered only by a towel wrapped around his waist. He seemed unconcerned with his state of dress, but then, if the rumors of his profession were true, he wouldn't be.

Rising, Lucius followed. Curiosity was his main motivation, but his reaction would say a lot about him. Lucius was supposed to learn everything he could.

He leaned against the door frame as Potter stared into his wardrobe. Physically, very little had changed in the Boy-Who-Lived. Still short and slender. His hair had grown, wet strands falling into his eyes as he debated his clothing. Lucius wondered if he'd always been so fit, or if his profession had done that.

"You realize you're staring."

There was no concern in the voice. No worry. No wariness. He didn't care if Lucius stared. Then again, a celebrity had to get used to that. Being stared at. Whispered after.

"Just taking in the changes." That much was true, at least.

Potter turned to face him, an eyebrow arched over dead eyes. That was the most disconcerting change, Lucius realized with a shudder trailing down his spine. Potter was emotional. He was emotive. He cared, and raged, and laughed - supposedly. This walking corpse wasn't Potter. Couldn't be Potter.

"See any?" Potter asked, voice as dead as the rest of him.

Lucius nodded to the scar on his shoulder. "That's new."

Potter glanced down, humming softly. "I was mugged. Four years ago. Stabbed me and Annalyss. Took our money. I survived. She didn't."

The longer Potter spoke, the more it seemed he'd forgotten how to. The boy had never been the best speaker, but he could string more than three words together without pausing.

"It's what you're good at."

"Getting other people killed?"

There was a bite to the voice now, an edge in those eyes. Old pain which never healed. Who was this woman - muggle no doubt - that tormented him so?

"Surviving," Lucius told him, voice softening.

Lord Voldemort wanted the boy. Of all their number, Lucius was the best at gaining someone's regard and trust. So, he would get it, and make it seem as though it had always been there.

He stepped further into the room, Not enough to crowd the boy, but to fully embrace the conversation.

"You have always survived whatever life has thrown at you," he said. "That's a commendable ability, and nothing to be ashamed of, Harry. It is not your fault that people die."

The boy blinked at him, rapid little things that suggested new information had been received and his brain was uncertain how to sort it. Had no one ever told him that? Lucius would need to read up on memory loss and how it affected people. Was this normal?

_Is anything involving Potter normal?_

"You knew this was new," Potter reached up, touching the scar on his shoulder. Lucius nodded once, allowing the subject change. It wouldn't do to push.

"Would you recognize the rest, then?"

"Quite likely," Lucius said. Lucius had heard of, if not seen, a great deal of Potter's injuries in his early years. He could explain things, perhaps in a way that put Lord Voldemort in a better light.

"This then." Potter held out his left hand, palm down. Lucius had to approach the boy before he could see it. Potter still appeared unconcerned with his state of undress, as though such things were of little importance. In the possible presence of answers, perhaps they were.

 _I must not tell lies_ , was written across Potter's hand.

Draco had been quite vicious in his letters, describing Potter's pain and the way Umbridge treated Potter and his Gryffidors.

"You were 15," Lucius told him. "There was a teacher at your school. She had an … interesting way of assigning punishments."

"A teacher did this to me?"

"Technically, she made you do it."

"How?"

"It's called a blood quill. Whatever is written by the user is done in their own blood, and is etched into their skin.

"And this is allowed?"

"Blood Quills have been illegal for centuries."

"Then why did she have one?"

A challenge. An attempt to catch him in a lie. This part was easy. It was also the truth."

"She had the Ministry's backing, and you were vocally against them at the time. She was tasked with shutting you up, and to that end, the government gave her free reign over the school. A lot of children were hurt that year."

"And what happened to her?"

No questions about 'why me'. _Interesting._

Lucius smirked. "You did, actually. You lured her into the nearby forest and gave her to centaurs. She was never quite the same after that."

"And this one?" Potter turned his arm over, revealing the long, jagged line that had led to Lord Voldemort's resurrection.

Without thinking, he reached out, touching the delicate skin. The boy twitched, moving his arm just out of reach. He glanced up, meeting Potter's eyes.

"This is how you brought our lord back from the death."

" _This_ , I did to myself?"

Potter didn't believe him, he could hear it in the faint undertone of the boy's voice. He reached out touching the end closest to his elbow.

"The cut obviously started here," he continued, "and was dragged down by someone who didn't know what they were doing. If I'd done it to myself, I'd have started at the other end."

"Do _you_ know what you're doing?"

"Yes."

Just a simple statement. No boasting. No explanations. Five years ago, Potter had always needed to explain his actions.

"Well, you're right," Lucius allowed. "You were not one of us then, and while it pained him to use the blood of a child, yours was the only sacrifice that would work."

"And why is that?" Potter asked. "And why could my blood bring him back from the dead?"

"Lord Voldemort always knew you would join us." This time Lucius did touch Potter, just a brush of his fingers. The boy still tensed. "As soon truths became known, you would come to us. He simply had to keep giving you information until you made the realization yourself."

"What realization?"

"That you were being used. All their care was an illusion that vanished any time you disagreed with them." He turned Potter's arm over, ignoring the tensing figure before him. "Your fifth year was a revelation for you in many ways."

"And you do?" Potter asked, eyebrow raised. "Care?"

"More than they ever did."

"Who are 'they'?"

"Our enemies."

"What enemies," the boy snapped, snatching his arm back. As quickly as it appeared, his ire vanished, smothered behind lifeless eyes once more. But, it was proof that Potter was still in there somewhere, waiting to be brought back to the surface.

"We were at war, Harry," Lucius said. "A war for the very soul of our world. It still continues, though the roles have reversed. Our enemy will stop at nothing until they succeed."

Potter stared at him. Measured him.

"What about this one?" Potter lifted his bangs, revealing the scar that started it all.

"You survived a curse no one had ever lived through before," he said, allowing the shift. Little probes would be how this young man was won over, how he was convinced. "It left a mark on you."

"Who did it?"

"Everything wrong in your life can be traced back to the machinations of one man."

"Who?"

"Albus Dumbledore."

There was no reaction to the name. No flicker of recognition. No thoughtful pause.

"And everything good from your lord?" A hint of mockery entered the boy's voice.

"He's caused you pain, yes, but he tried to make up for it in your time with us. You were happy."

Now, Potter turned away. "I'm never happy," was all he said, finally reaching for a shirt.

"You were once."

"I don't remember." Potter dropped his towel.

Lucius turned on his heel, putting his back to the boy as he finished dressing.

"I'll be outside."

Potter hummed, but let him go without a word.

When the boy emerged soon after, neither brought up the subject again. Potter grabbed his bag and left. Lucius had no choice but to follow. Neither spoke at all as they walked, but Lucius was learning this Potter didn't have much to say. And, he knew when to back away. He'd given the boy plenty to think about. Now, he had to let him think. The questions would come, eventually.

"You'll have to wait here," Potter said, outside a nondescript building. "No one's allowed to see rehearsals.

"This isn't what was agreed."

"No one said anything about coming in," Potter said. "You're just supposed to keep anyone suspicious away. You can do that just fine out here."

"Raven," one of the muggles called, "you coming?"

Potter waved back, turning from Lucius without a farewell. The boy was stopped by his colleagues, and several glances were tossed his way. Lucius ignored them, his gaze on the building.

It was too big for him to attempt wards, and they were too flashy for the muggle world anyway. But, that didn't mean he was completely blind. As the group slipped around the corner of the building, Lucius drew his wand. A careful incantation later, and he felt a layer of magic settle over the building.

It would only last a few hours, but it would notify him any time someone of magical ability entered or left. It was the best he could do without being in the building.

_~*~*~_

_Harry_

"Who was that man, Raven?"

Raven paused, turning to Daniel, a tall slender dancer. "Who?"

"The man you were talking to outside. You know, tall, blond, a gaze that could pierce metal. That your boyfriend?"

"No." He said. "He's no interest in me, nor I him."

"Can I have him then?"

"He's not interested."

"How do you know?" Daniel flung an arm about him, conveniently forgetting, again, that Raven didn't like to be touched.

_Besides the fact that you're muggle?_

"He had a wife," Raven shrugged him off. "And a son."

"Doesn't mean anything," Daniel laughed. "You know how many gay guys have wives and children?"

Raven shook his head, heading toward his mirror where he dropped his bag.

"Come on, have you seriously not tried to tap that?"

Raven looked at him. Daniel raised his hands.

"Sorry. Forgot you're not interested in real pleasure."

Jake arrived then, saving Raven from needing to answer, and saving Daniel from what that might have been.

"Good morning, Raven."

"Morning."

"Did anyone else see that guy outside?" Adam asked.

"He came with Raven," Daniel told them.

"Raven?"

He ignored them, setting his are up before rehearsal started. Not that he'd have much to actually rehearse.

"Raven?" Jake asked, hovering by his side.

He hummed softly, not looking up from his task.

"Did you get a sugar daddy?"

Raven paused, blinking up at his coworker. "No."

"Told you," Jake called to the others, even as he grinned at Raven. "See you on stage."

Raven watched the three of them go, bickering all the way. Sighing to himself, he dug through his bag, looking for his wand. He couldn't leave just yet. Malfoy might be sensitive enough to feel him apparate - or have placed any number of wards around the building. If he could sense him, Lucius would be able to get backstage before the lingering magic wore off. He needed more time if he wanted to get away.

Ten minutes, at least, though more was preferred. They'd come close to finding Voldemort's main hideout that way. The stronger the wizard, the longer they could follow, the more jumps they could follow through. He'd only just begun his training in that. Him, Ron, and Hermione. Five years ago, he could follow through five jumps before losing the thread. Dumbledore believed his could do six, at least.

Tonight, though. Once Malfoy - or whoever was assigned to him - was asleep, he could grab some clothes, money, leave the apartment, and apparate away. And no one would miss him until morning.

Except, he couldn't find his wand.

He could always reach it. No matter how long it sat there, it came to his hand when he needed it. Frowning, he pulled things from his bag, dropping them in his chair, on his vanity, on the ground, until the bag was empty. Everything was there. His knife. Spare clothes. Wallet and ID. Cellphone. But not his wand.

"Bastards," he muttered. They'd taken his wand before everything. Possibly, Voldemort planned on giving it back for a final duel. He'd done it before, but once he 'didn't remember anything', the man decided to keep it. Raven leaned against his table, breathing steadily.

He could leave without it, but it would be harder. No wand meant no muffling charm. No light spell. No instant packing. No apparating. It meant leaving behind the last piece that proved his whole life hadn't been a dream. That he'd had friends who cared. But, he could do it. If he had to.

Or, he could stay long enough to get it back. Voldemort would have to, eventually. If Raven was to be any use, he'd need his wand. But, he'd be dragged back into everything. Fame. Notoriety. The-Boy-Who-Ran.

The war. Politics. Voldemort. He'd have to deal with the dark lord. How long could he keep the charade going surrounded by people he knew? Hated? Who'd killed his family. All of it.

"Raven?"

He turned, staring at Jonathan, who gazed over Raven's mess.

"You alright?"

"Of course."

Another glance. Raven was always neat. Nothing was left out unless he needed it, so his boss' concern was understandable, if inconvenient.

"I left something at home," he explained. The man needed something.

"Is it important? We can delay rehearsal until you have it."

"No." Raven turned, carefully putting everything away. "It's not important. Just a … good luck charm."

Silence. Then, "You have a good luck charm?"

Raven glanced behind him. "Don't you?"

"Er … well … sure, I guess. Most people do, I suppose, but …"

Raven wasn't the type. He shrugged.

"It's the only thing I have from … before."

Jonathan's expression cleared. "I see. Well, you'll have time to get it before we open."

"Sure."

He wouldn't. Voldemort would determine when he got it back. If he stayed. If anything went to plan.

"You sure you're alright? The others say you come in with someone."

"A new acquaintance."

Jonathan hummed softly. "Now … about tonight. Are you sure can pull it off? You haven't mentioned it before."

"I know what I'm doing."

"We had to hire a professional last year. Why didn't you say anything?"

"No one else volunteered. I couldn't do it to myself."

"So, you're … into that scene then?"

"No." Raven sat. "I don't get off on pain."

"What about-"

"Or giving it. But, I know what to do. And how to do it. Some of it."

"Raven … if you don't mind my asking … If you don't like pain, why let us do it to you?"

"No one else was willing," he shrugged. "And I knew what to expect. I could make a good show of it, which is what you wanted. Pain wouldn't deter me from that."

"But, why were you even …" Jonathan trailed off, gaze concerned, but perhaps unwilling to cross further over the line into unprofessional territory. But, the old man worried. It had been awhile since anyone cared enough to really worry.

"I wanted to feel something," Raven admitted, looking into his mirror. Nothingness gazed back. "I thought that would. It didn't."

Jonathan sighed. "Raven … have you ever considered therapy?"

"Why? Unless they can dig out my memories, what use are they?"

"More than you'd think," Jonathan said. "But, it's up to you." Jonathan inhaled slowly.

"Now … What do you need for tonight?"

_~*~*~_

_Voldemort_

"We could just kill the boy," Gibbon said.

"No."

Voldemort didn't want him dead. Not yet. Not when Potter didn't know _why_ he was dying. Not when he could recruit him, pull him into the darkness, and then drag his memories into the open. Not when he could watch Potter destroy himself before he died. Not when, even 5 years gone, the Boy-Who-Lived was still a powerful ally.

"I wish to use him," Voldemort told his circle. "I wish for his willing compliance. So, how do we provide him with irrefutable proof that he was ours?"

His Death eaters glanced amongst themselves.

"We could alter some memories," Nott said. "Put them in a pensieve and let him watch them."

"Can you fabricate a complete memory from nothing?" Bellatrix sneered. "That's what it will take. None of us have good memories of Potter. Nothing we can change without more practice than any of us have."

Bellatrix was likely right. Good memory fabrications required skill, and dedication to mind magics none of his order possessed.

"Any similarities could also risk triggering the boy's real memories," Severus said, the closest they had to an expert. He bowed his head to Voldemort before leaning forward. "Minor alterations are an easy matter. Erasing someone's memories, simple. Completely altering a memory becomes more difficult the more changes you make."

"Explain," Voldemort demanded.

"Each action begets another, and another. Wherever you break that chain, you must logically connect it to another. One misstep, and it becomes incomplete. Unnatural. Suspicion enters the viewer's mind, and they begin to question everything. They look for everything wrong, rather than what is right."

"Furthermore," Severus continued. "There is the chance that, upon remembering, or viewing, an altered memory, a person can recall what really happened. A minor detail can bring the truth back to a stubborn mind. And Potter is, if nothing else, quite stubborn."

"His luck almost guarantees he'd remember," Jugson said, glaring down at the table they were seated at.

"What are our options?" Voldemort demanded. "What _can_ we do?"

No one spoke. Their uncertainty grated on his patience. The steady tap-tap-tap of his finger on the table caused them suitable discomfort, and yet none of them could speak.

"I may have a solution," Severus said, finally, "though to my knowledge, it has never been used on someone without memories before."

He motioned for the man to continue. Severus rarely put forth an opinion without some certainty, making his best guess better than most of his circle's stated fact.

"It is used, primarily by mind healers," Severus continued, "as such, while it's effects may be questionable, the ministry never actually outlawed it, even before your current administration," A bow of the head to Voldemort, as was his due. "The _Novaya Vera_ is Russian in origin, and is designed to help the drinker see someone in a new light. It requires something of the person, and the drinker. The magic involved will craft a scenario in their head, much like a memory."

"Only one?" Voldemort asked. It wasn't much, but it was a start. And something crafted by the boy's own head would make it impossible to refute.

"I will need a few days, but I'm certain I can alter the potion to allow more than one scenario, and more than one person. It we tell him it's supposed to jump start his real memories, he will have no reason to doubt anything he's seen."

Voldemort grinned. "Excellent."

"The problem with it," Severus said, "is that is requires some conscious connection to the person involved."

"What does that mean?" Bellatrix demanded.

"Meaning, each person will need to meet Potter, and he would need some hint as to who they are in relation to him."

"It requires a mind that understands," Evan Rosier said, speaking up for the first time. "If he does not know who you are, his mind cannot create you. If he does not know what you are supposed to be, his mind cannot fathom your place in it. All magic needs something to anchor itself." He looked at Severus, eyes bright and eager, as they ever were when presented with something new and interesting. He turned to Voldemort. "Who will you choose? Surely the choice will determine who Potter grows close to."

"This will require some finesse," Voldemort agreed. "Severus, you know him best."

"I would politely decline," Severus said. "My own history with the boy does not lend itself well to being a confidant."

Bellatrix laughed. "Severus doesn't have the balls for this."

"Leave him be, Bellatrix. He'll be brewing the potion."

"Well, let me do it, my lord." Bellatrix leaned forward, eyes wide and eager, shining with glee as she salivated over the task.

"What could _you_ do?" Gibbon sneered. "Besides scare him off with your crazy."

Bellatrix's grin grew. "He's never had a mother's touch," she said. "Never had anyone to bring him up right. He'll _adore_ me. Even if he gets his memory back, he'll not want to leave me. Not after I get him."

Jugson laughed. "You? A mother?"

Bellatrix cursed him. Mildly. For her. She knew better than to permanently harm a Death Eater. That was Voldemort's prerogative."

"Enough."

The table silenced. All eyes returned to Voldemort, though some simmered angrily. He gazed them over, debating which of his number would be good for the task. Who could handle the Boy-Who-Lived, and which roles were suited to them.

The closer Potter became to people, the harder he would take it when the truth came to light. The more glorious his pain would be. Who could get that desired result?

"Very well, Bellatrix, I think young Harry could do with a mother's care."

The woman's grin returned, her hands clapping in unrestrained glee.

The others piped up with possibilities, each attempting to gain one of those coveted spots. All, but Severus. And Evan.

"Evan, what would you do?"

Evan leaned forward. "Everyone needs a voice of reason, my lord," he said, ignoring the scoffs around the table. "A teacher in how the world works, in how to reach their fullest potential. And if Severus doesn't want the job, I could take it. Someone would have had to teach Potter everything."

"You wish to teach him the dark arts?"

That was a possibility that hadn't entered his plans. But, the thought of teaching Potter the killing curse, on fully extinguishing the light he'd so carefully clung to, was tempting.

"I wish to put truth to your ruse, my lord. Someone would have taught him," he repeated. "Again, it can't be Severus. It might as well be me."

Slowly, Voldemort nodded. "Very well. I look forward to seeing your progress. How much would it take for the light to turn on him completely?"

Bellatrix cackled again, but Evan just smiled.

"Lucius will be the third," Voldemort decided. "Assuming he hasn't alienated Potter."

Doubtful. Lucius Malfoy always knew which way the wind blew. He'd know Voldemort had plans, and he'd make sure to stay in Potter's good graces.

"And myself." He was not going to relinquish any power over the boy. He would get Potter, and then he would shatter at Voldemort's feet.

"Can you manage that, Severus?" Bellatrix mocked.

"Easily," Severus' attention remained on Voldemort. "As I've said, it will take a few days to get everything done."

Voldemort nodded. "You'll have them. The rest of you will prepare for Potter's integration."

"And, I will also need something important to Potter, preferably something he possessed before he forgot everything. It will help the memories take on aspects of the boy he was, rather than the man he is now."

"Will his wand suffice?"

"It will. Finally, I will need something from the subject of each scenario. Something person. But that represents what they are supposed to be to Potter."

"That can be arranged. Bellatrix? Evan?"

They both nodded.

"I have just the thing," Bellatrix cackled.


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The promised show, and other bits, because the chapter wasn't long enough, in my opinion. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy this.

_Voldemort_

Lucius met him outside. The street was crawling with muggles, some of them already staring at the man. Lucius could do many things. Blend in was not one of them. Lucius sneered at the passing muggles, physically discouraging any attempt at conversation.

The club itself appeared tasteful, if lacking character. The outside, at least, was a simple building with a simple lit sign. It didn't draw unnecessary attention, or advertise anything untoward. It didn't look like other muggle clubs like it.

"He's been inside all day," Lucius said.

"Did you find anything?"

Lucius shook his head. "Potter keeps nothing. There were no pictures. No mementos. Nothing that suggests he has any idea who he used to be."

_Good._

"Did anything happen?"

"He wanted to know about his scars."

Voldemort narrowed his eyes. Even the glamour couldn't hide the red tint of them. "What did you tell him?"

Lucius smirked. "What he needed to hear, my lord. He now knows Dolores Umbridge was at fault for his hand, and that he extracted his revenge for it. His forearm was sacrificed for your glorious return, though you were loathe to harm him."

Voldemort nodded. He'd get specifics later, along with any of Lucius' observations. For now, so close to the start of this show, that would do.

"Did he ask after The Scar?"

"He did. I told him it was a sign of his survival, the need for which could ultimately be drawn back to Dumbledore. He is …" Lucius paused, "difficult to read, but he seemed to believe it."

"Good." He turned his attention back to the muggle establishment. There was only one reason he was here, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone else. He was curious. What could Potter do on a stage that could attract so many people. What he'd seen had not shown anything capable of seducing anyone, though he supposed Potter's grace could be part of his appeal.

"Let's go," he told the other three trailing him.

Each of them had been here before, rumors of the Potter Look-alike drawing them in the hopes of being the one to actually find the boy. As such, they would know what to do to avoid drawing unnecessary attention. Two of them were low in his ranks, and had yet to do anything worth noticing. The other was Theodore Nott, son, and grandson, of Death Eaters.

Theodore Nott took the lead, striding forward with confidence born of his status. The inside was just as muggle as everything else. Surrounded by it all, he had to wonder if there was anything redeemable here. The very air stank with the filth he walked past.

They found a table near the front. Voldemort took a seat with the best view, with Lucius at his side. THe others spread out as they had to. A muggle was already onstage, gyrating to some Merlin bedamned sound while the muggles jeered and tossed bills onto the stage.

"Potter does _this?_ "

What would his fans think if they learned?

Nott shook his head. "Not exactly. His act is-" his eyes drifted to the stage, sneer pulling his lips. "-different."

"Hmm."

It was an hour before Potter made an appearance. An hour listening to muggles holler and being unable to curse them, not if he wanted to see what Potter's performance was.

_I'll give but I won't receive._

Give what? Receive what?

Finally, Potter walked onstage.

 _Prowled,_ his mind supplied. Potter didn't walk. From the moment his foot touched the stage, he was a predator observing his prey, with all the arrogant confidence that entailed.

Gone were the muggle jeans and T-shit. In their place was a pair of pants - perhaps made of some sort of leather, that appeared painted on him with the way it moved with his body. The only thing covering his chest was a top more string than substance, revealing far more than it hid.

Potter's chest was finely sculpted. There were no unseemly, bulging muscles. He was trim and lithe. A dancers build, they called it, for good reason. There was not an ounce of fat on the boy, having all been trimmed away by constant attention.

Even his eyes changed. Gone was the blank stare. The careless gaze. There was a hungry gleam present. A lustful desire as he glanced out over the crowd, a smirk on his lips.

To his left and right, the Death Eaters inhaled sharply. To his right, even Lucius sat up.

"Gentlemen," a voice boomed, causing Lucius (and himself, though he wouldn't admit it) to startle. Another muggle appeared onstage holding a Magrophone - or whatever obnoxious name they'd come up for it was.

"Over a year ago," he said, "we experimented. Tonight, we do so again. Raven, choose your victim."

At the man's words, the smirk upon Potter's lips grew. Slowly, fluidly, the boy - young man - moved off the stage. He wove through the seated crowd with slow precision, each step exactly where he wanted it as he observed his options.

Muggles twisted in their seats to watch Raven as he wove between tables. None of them reached for him, as they had with the others. There was lust in them, but also respect, which had been lacking with the others.

 _Interesting_. Subconsciously, at least, these muggles recognized their superior.

All eyes trailed after the dark haired man, silently awaiting his decision - though none knew what it was for. As Potter walked the room, trailing sighs and desires behind him, something new rose in the air. With a start, he recognized it, and his attention returned to Potter with renewed interest.

Sex magic. A rarely and rarely sought after magic that was as powerful as it was forbidden by the old ministry. How had Harry Potter learned sex magic? The light wouldn't have taught him. It was of no use on the battlefield, and the use of it was looked down upon, even then. Even the dark tended to ignore it, certain situations excepting.

 _So, how?_ He wondered, his own eyes glued to the formerly missing wizard. No one would have taught it to him, and with his memory gone, it was working on an instinctive level, with no conscious control.

Voldemort raised his mental shields, and found he could turn his eyes away, if he wanted. He could breath on his own. His thoughts could turn elsewhere. The power behind this magic was not to be denied if it could almost ensnare him. He'd only just escaped it.

The same could not be said for his companions. Even Lucius appeared dumbstruck, eyes glazed, lips parted. How had Harry Potter become a master of sex magic?

It did explain some of Potter's memories, he allowed. The muggles were obsessed with him because he'd made them so. Addicted them to him, to what he made them feel. To the feeling still rising in the air with every twitch of those narrow hips.

Finally, Potter came to a stop just in front of their table. He hadn't so much as looked at them as he passed. Voldemort did not appreciate being ignored, but tonight, he would let it go. Tonight, Potter was in his element. As natural as he'd ever been in the dueling circle, but then, what was sex but another duel to be won?

Potter circled the table before them, a predator centering on its prey. A muggle red-head stared at him, lost in the magic. The desire. Potter bent down until his lips were right next to the man's ear without ever touching him. It would have been more natural to touch him. For Potter to press close and share the magic building within him. But, he didn't. One hand braced himself on the table as he spoke too softly to be heard, but the muggles tried anyway, leaning forward as though a few extra inches would make all the difference.

Voldemort watched the chosen muggle close his eyes. Swallow. Nod. Immediately, Potter pulled away, pointing. Two large men closed in from a point just to Potter's right, pulling the man from his seat.

"Bouncers," Not said, voice hoarse, eyes never leaving Potter. "They call them bouncers. Meant to keep the dancers safe."

Voldemort nodded once as he watched the muggle led to the stage. Potter followed behind them. Alm. Each move transitioning smoothly to the next with no hesitation. Every eye was on him, and he knew it, though he ignored them all. Potter only had eyes for his prey, and Voldemort could not tear his eyes from the lithe form controlling a room of muggles so effortlessly. Could he do so with wizards as well?

He strengthened his shields, and even that only did so much.

On stage, the muggle was being locked into a pair of manacles lowered from the ceiling. Potter stood nearby. Watching. Waiting. The muggle gazed back.

"Now, for everyone's safety, this ends as soon as our volunteer screams. You understand that, Raven? No getting carried away now." The old man laughed.

Potter just nodded, his attention turning to a small table that appeared at his side.

"He screams. I stop," he drawled in carefully controlled arrogance, the likes of which he usually only heard on a Malfoy. Or Evan Rosier.

"Pity."

Someone a table over groaned lowly. Voldemort ignored them. The young man's voice had been interesting, but he wouldn't be so crass as to vocalize it. Despite their rapt attention, none of his Death Eaters uttered a sound.

"To keep from distracting Raven," the voice continued, "a basket has been placed on every table where you can leave your offerings. If there is a suitable interest, he's said he would be willing to choose another victim in the near future."

 _Offering. An interesting choice of words,_ he mused as Potter's hand ran over the tools on the table.

Sex magic was all about give and take. Offerings and Sacrifice. Submitting and dominating. Promising and denying. Though he was the subject of all the lust filled thoughts in the room, Potter was obviously the one dominating a room willingly offering itself to him.

Finally, Potter picked up something long and slender. Voldemort leaned forward as he realized it was a knife with a long handle. The blade itself was shorter than his finger, and Potter held it with practiced ease.

Potter ran his finger over the blade as he peered at his victim. Blood welled from under it.

Slowly, he trailed one finger down the man's clothed chest. Gasps sounded.

"Bloody hell," Nott breathed. "Raven doesn't touch people. Not ever. For any reason."

Another nod, though Nott seemed to be speaking to himself more than Voldemort. He'd seen that already in Potter's memories, and what he did to people who trespassed without permission. On stage, Potter opened the man's shirt, speaking softly once more. The man's head shook, slowly. Not a refusal. An answer.

Potter ran the side of the blade down the man's chest, never shifting his focus from the trembling figure. His eyes closed as Potter leaned in, gently laying his lips against the flesh. It wasn't a kiss really. A claiming. A promise of something more.

When he pulled away, he brought the knife up once more, carefully drawing the blade along his skin again. Blade down. Blood beaded in a red line alon pale flesh, and Potter leaned in once more. Instead of a kis, his tongue darted out, catching the blood along the cut.

Magic sizzled on the air. Voldemort's eyes focused on that tongue. On the little bits of red disappearing between pink lips.

Potter said something to the man which had him shivering. And every eye was glued on them in breathless anticipation.

He didn't stick with the knife for long. One more little cut, another taste of his victim, and Potter put it away. He touched his victim often, not just to give pain, but in comfort. He spoke to the muggle, but no one could hear it over the soft music playing.

Potter played them well. His victim trembled at his touch, breathing harsh, but he never screamed. When he seemed close, Potter pulled back, speaking softly, giving him water, soothing him before returning to his task.

All the while, the magic around them steadily built, rising slowly to the end culmination of Potter's work.

The muggle screamed. As his scream pierced the air, the magic climaxed. It swept through every male in the room, pulling from them, leaving them gasping and empty. It tied them to Potter as he stood at the center of his magic. It made him stronger, demanding their continued attention.

Potter pulled away immediately as the muggle sagged in his restraints, gasping for breath. Crying. Potter put his tool down and touched the muggle, soothing him once more.

The bouncers approached, but Potter waved them off. One arm about the man's waist, he stretched up and undid the manacles. One, then the other until the weight sagged forward onto Potter's deceptively small frame.

He said something to the bouncers, who still stood near. One of them nodded, leaving the stage. Still ignoring the audience, Potter led his victim backstage. And finally, as that tantalizing magic vanished from sight, if not his ability to sense, Voldemort found himself able to think once more.

Potter had addicted muggles to him. Voldemort had only been saved from the brunt of it because of his shields, but even he had felt the rush. The physical stimulation the likes of which he hadn't felt in decades. It hadn't been a true ritual, or he might not have withstood the power in the room. Potter hadn't been trying to do anything. He'd just been gathering power.

For how long? How much power had Potter gained from sex crazed muggles who couldn't stand against him? Who had no idea what he was doing? And where was it all going? Because Potter didn't reek of magic, which he should have if he'd been hoarding all this for days, or months, or years. So, he was using it. Somehow. Somewhere, without knowing what he was doing.

Voldemort leaned back in his seat. Potter was becoming more of a mystery with every new discovery. He'd always enjoyed untangling mysteries. Solving puzzles. Pulling things apart. Potter would open before him, just like every other thing that garnered his attention. And then …

Potter didn't return to the stage that night. Someone came by the tables, collecting the baskets. The three regulars at his each put in a few bills, none of them looking at Voldemort as they did so.

"Keeps from drawing attention," they explained, as though Voldemort couldn't see through their flimsy excuse. As though Potter's show hadn't deserved some reward.

They were addicted. Just like the muggles. Lucius, at least, had regained his composure since the magic faded. Possibly, his own constant shields had protected him from the worst Potter's magic had to offer.

The muggle did return, eventually, looking none the worse for wear due to his little torture. His fellows pounded his back, loudly congratulating him, still drunk on the magic pushed through them. Even the other dancers benefited from Potter's performance.

By not returning, the patrons were forced to turn their attention to the others. Others who played to their attentions, who flirted and let them close. Who permitted touch.

Finally, Lucius sat up. "Potter's leaving."

Voldemort rose, leaving the others to pay their bill. He and Lucius left, neither displeased to exit the muggle den of debauchery.

"Come again!" Someone called after them. Neither replied.

Outside, the air was clear. Free of the muggle stench. The sun had long since set, though street lights made it easy to see.

"Come on, Raven. It'll be fun, I promise."

Voldemort turned to the building's side.

"I have an engagement early tomorrow," Potter said, voice once again void of inflection. "I can't stay out."

 _Is it an effect of constant use of sex magic?_ He wondered, absently. He would need to see if any studies had been done on the side effects of sex magic. Surely someone had conducted one.

"We won't keep you out late," Another voice said, as four figures turned the corner.

"It's already late," Potter said.

"Tomorrow, then. We won't take no for an answer."

Potter stared, then nodded once. "Very well. Tomorrow."

The muggle frowned, leaning closer. "Your word?"

Raven nodded. "My word on it."

The muggle grinned. "Great. I'll call tomorrow."

"Not before 4."

The muggle nodded, still grinning as he and his companions turned away. They paused as they saw Voldemort, still in his glamour to appear normal. The lead muggle cast his eyes over Lucius, a small smirk on his lips.

"Can we help you gentlemen with anything?" he asked.

"We're here for Raven," Voldemort said, ignoring the muggle.

"Another one?" one of the others muttered as he and his friends closed ranks around the wizard, all but hiding him from view. "Look, Raven doesn't care for company. He's not interested, alright?"

"They're not here for that," Potter said. "They say they know me."

"Jesus Christ," someone muttered. "Sod off, will you? Raven's beaten off more of you than he should have to. He ain't gonna believe anything you have to say."

Potter, still barely seen behind them, blinked at his muggle protectors, a flash of confusion - and worry? - entering his eyes.

"They say they have proof."

All three men twisted to look at him, their disbelief obvious. Potter reached out, gently moving them out of the way. The leader grinned at the touch. Not like the besotted idiots inside, but as though he'd just achieved something.

"Really?" he asked.

Potter shrugged. "We'll see."

Potter gazed at Voldemort, taking in the glamour's changes.

"You want us to stay, mate?"

The words startled Potter. He turned, blinking at the muggle at his side, who rolled his eyes in response.

"Of course we're mates," he said. "We've worked together for years now. Of course we're mates."

"I'm fine," Potter said, not replying to the man's claim. "I'm not exactly defenseless."

The three men glanced at Voldemort, their hesitation keeping them from listening to their supposed friend. It was Potter who waved them off, closing the distance between them and Voldemort. He allowed the young man to lead them a ways off.

"Have something to say?" Potter asked, the muggles hovering nearby. An illusion of privacy. Supposed protection.

"The show was interesting."

Potter shrugged. "It was alright. I would have thought you'd have left by now."

"Without seeing you? Harry, you really have forgotten."

Potter's eyes narrowed, but he didn't pursue the statement. Nott and the others arrived, an almost silent trio, heralded only by the brief flicker of Potter's eyes.

"Theodore will be staying with you a few days," Voldemort said, motioning the man forward.

"I hardly need to be babysat," Potter said, arms crossing as he looked the man over.

"You are defenseless still, Harry," Voldemort told him. "Despite your claims to the contrary, you could not defend yourself against those who seek you. I will not leave you as easy prey for our enemies. Nott will protect you. Or, you could come with us. You would be safer."

"I'll take him," Potter said, as though Nott were an animal being forced into his care.

"You attended school together," Voldemort told him. "Perhaps he could share some insights with you."

"Perhaps."

Voldemort reached forward to touch the man, but otter shifted away, a faint grimace of pain crossing his features.

"I don't like to be touched."

Voldemort nodded. "It pains you again," he murmured softly. "We'll see about fixing that. Don't go anywhere without Nott. He's supposed to protect you."

"I'll keep that in mind." Still, Potter hesitated, staying close by. He stared up at Voldemort.

"Something on your mind?"

"There was something missing from my bag."

"Oh?" Voldemort asked. Had Potter missed his wand already?

"It's the only thing I had when …" he shook his head. "Never mind, it's just a stick."

"It's not 'just a stick'," Voldemort said, guiding him farther away from the others. He didn't touch Potter, for the moment respecting his wish, and the pain his touch caused, "any more than you are just an ordinary man. It is what will allow you power beyond your imagination."

"So, where is it now?"

"Safe," he said. "It's not something that should be around muggles. You'll get it back when you begin relearning how to use it."

The young man gazed at him a moment. He nodded.

"I have an early day tomorrow."

"So I heard. I'll let you know when everything is ready."

Potter nodded again, still staring up at Voldemort.

Voldemort left first.

_~*~*~_

_Severus_

"We weren't expecting you until next week."

Severus turned taking in the tall figure covered by cloak and shadow. Even here, unseen by anyone but each other, she didn't reveal herself completely. He recognized her voice, knew who she was, but never put a name to it. It was a weak defense, but the only one they had.

"Did something happen?" she asked, worry coloring her voice as she looked around. "Were you discovered?"

"Not yet," Severus soothed her concern, though it was more likely the potential tails she worried over.

"Then why are you here?" she demanded, back to business now her worries were laid to rest. "You know it's dangerous to meet."

"I'm aware of the dangers," Severus snapped. "Perhaps better than you."

He was the one putting everything on the line for a cause that was slowly dying out. If he was discovered, he was the one at risk. He would be tortured and killed long before anyone else felt the dark lord's ire.

None of them would even be at risk. There were precautions in place for his eventual discovery. Precautions which safeguarded the rest of them. He was the one with everything to lose, and she well knew it.

She sighed softly. "You're right," she said. "I'm sorry, Sev-"

He hissed at her. No names was the first rule. Never, for any reason. Even in dark alley basements where no one could hear them.

She stopped. "I should know better."

"You should."

"Well, what is it?" she asked. "What couldn't wait until next week?"

"It may be too late." He glanced around, paranoia requiring him to check-again-that they were unobserved.

"What is it?"

"Harry Potter has been found."

"By You-Know-Who?"

"Would I be here otherwise?" he snapped.

"How long do we have?" she asked.

"Until what?"

"Until he kills the boy!"

"He doesn't plan to," Severus said. "Yet."

"It's to be torture then."

"Not like your thinking." Severus sighed. "Potter doesn't remember anything."

"Doesn't … Are you certain?"

"The dark lord ripped through his mind," Severus said. "If memories were there, they'd have been found."

"Oh, Harry."

"Yes, poor Potter. Runs away and forgets all his responsibilities."

"Really, now. Must you?"

Severus inhaled slowly, controlling his temper. No one else could decide how to treat the boy. It was likely why he left. Part of the reason.

"The dark lord plans on converting the boy, woman," Severus snapped. "He plans on falsifying memories as proof of the boy's place at his side."

"Can he do that?"

"In a way."

With his help. It was better than anything else they could have done, and it wouldn't do irreparable harm to the boy's mind - what little there was of it.

"Where is he now?"

"Under guard," Severus said. "We have three days before Potter is given these … memories."

"Three days? Three Days? It's not enough time. You know it isn't."

"Well, something must be done."

She sighed, pacing the room. He avoided looking at her. Avoided noticing the way she moved. The tiny details the minor light revealed. Nothing that could give her away. He hoped.

"Where is it happening?"

"Malfoy Manor. It's to be a celebration of his return."

"There will be guards," she said.

"And the Dark Lord."

She nodded now. "Where _is_ he now? Potter?"

"Some muggle abode. I haven't been able to ask without raising suspicion."

"That's the last thing we need right now," she admitted. "We'll see what we can do on our end."

She drew close, laying an old, wrinkled hand on Severus' arm. Something in him relaxed at the touch. Something that had been tense for far too long.

"Thank you," she said. "As always, you're good at your job, even if we don't like what you bring us."

Severus inclined his head at the acknowledgement.

"I'd best be getting back," he said. "I've a potion to brew."

"And we have a boy to rescue."

_Not so much a boy anymore._

~*~*~

" _Harry."_

_His head rested on his knees. The tears came randomly. Constantly. They'd stop, and then he'd look up. He'd see a chess set, or a book, and they would return. It was easier to keep his head down. To hide everything. To avoid the looks of sympathy/pity/pain/irritation._

" _Harry."_

_They'd sent Remus this time. No one else held that much understanding in their voice. He'd lost people too. People that mattered. People closer than family._

" _Harry, look at me." The order was gentle. A request, but Harry didn't. Couldn't. Not even when a hand rested on his leg. Silent support. Understanding. It broke the barrier within him once more._

_He sobbed again. Remus' grip tightened._

" _Oh, Harry, you can't keep doing this to yourself."_

_His words didn't stop the flood. Didn't stop the pain. The words meant nothing to him. Couldn't ever reach him where it mattered. There was nothing there any more. Nothing but pain, and grief, and an empty whole where two kind hearts had taken residence._

_They wouldn't want this, Harry," Remus said. "They wouldn't want you-"_

_Harry shoved the man away, watching him fall back with eyes blazing beneath the sparkling of tears._

" _You don't know what they want," he snapped, hands curling into fists. He shoved his way to his feet, glaring down at Remus, the last remainder of parents he'd never known._

_Remus stared up at him. Calm, as always. Understanding. Patient. His anger wavered. He clung to it desperately. It was better than the grief. A respite from the tears._

" _You don't know what they want," he repeated. "Nobody knows because they're dead. They're dead because of a stupid plan that didn't work. They're dead because of a mistake, because I wasn't there. Because-" His voice cracked, anger fading as tears returned, overwhelming his words._

_Harry collapsed to his knees. Remus was there, wrapping an arm around Harry, holding him tight._

" _I know it hurts," Remus said. "I know it hurts, but we can't do this without you. I wish it were otherwise. I wish we could let you mourn. But, we can't. I'm sorry, but we need you."_

_And Harry cried._


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how this chapter turned out. It's well over 1,000 words longer than in the previous version. I added a few things, changed a few things. The bit with Severus is completely new. 
> 
> Also, fun fact, Ginko Biloba and Vacha are both real plants the promote memory and mental health. Learn something new every day.

**Chapter 5**

Between Voldemort and Theodore Nott, Raven preferred Nott. At least this ex-slytherin didn't give him a headache with his mere presence. Between Theodore Nott, and Lucius Malfoy, he still preferred Nott. He wasn't as disconcerting as Malfoy had been. He didn't have years of exploiting ministry officials. He would have more trouble lying. Believably, at least.

He pushed thoughts of the elder Malfoy away as he unlocked his door. No doubt they'd expect him to have questions next time. No doubt he would, but now wasn't the time to think them over. It had already been a long day, and tomorrow proved to be another in the making.

He left the door open behind him in a silent - if impolite - invitation. Raven't hadn't invited him, so he didn't feel the need to play host. He hung his bag up as Nott closed the door behind them. He heard the lock click into place, and a degree of tension returned to him. His old nightmares started like this. Him locked in a room with a death eater.

This one didn't want to kill him.

_Isn't allowed to kill me._

Raven dug his phone out of his bag and ventured deeper into the apartment. It wasn't much, but it was his, and he didn't have to share it with anyone. Usually.

"This is the living room," he said to the man following him. "Kitchen's through there," he waved to the side. "Bathroom's down the hall, first door on the right. Guest room's right across from it."

"And you?"

Raven paused. "Will be in my room, just beyond that," he said.

He turned to Nott, taking in the familiar gleam. He knew that look. He hated that look, and damn Voldemort for sending it into his home. If Nott tried to convince him they were lovers, he'd do more than scratch him with his knife.

Raven shifted to the balls of his feet, though Nott appeared oblivious to the change in his stance. He closed the distance between them, towering over Raven, as if to impress him with his height. Or intimidate him.

He smirked down at Raven, flexing his shoulders in an age old posturing display. Raven didn't sigh, though he wanted to. Nott wasn't drunk, which led to different seduction techniques. All of which impressed him as much as the drunken ones did.

"I can think of something I'd rather do with our evening."

"You'll have to do it by yourself," Raven told him. "You're welcome to do whatever you want, by yourself, just keep it quiet. I have to be up early, and my neighbors are already asleep."

Raven turned away from him. If he got to his room, Nott couldn't follow. Maybe. The man grabbed his arm, pulling Raven back to face him.

"I've been watching you," he said.

_That's not creepy. Not at all._

"I've been coming to your shows for a year now. Merlin, I knew a filthy muggle couldn't turn me on like this."

Without giving Raven time to respond, Nott clashed his lips down. It wasn't a kiss so much as a bruising attempt to dominate. Raven tensed in his hold, anger flaring - filling him for a time with something other than dead air.

 _Nobody touches me._ Raven shifted in Nott's hold, not fighting it, yet. The man allowed it, pressing closer with a groan as though he intended to climb inside Raven and take up residence there.

Raven brought his knee up, catching his assailant between the legs. Nott collapsed before him, ardor instantly cooling as he held the injured flesh between his hands. Raven stepped back, putting space between them. The man would be pissed when he recovered. Raven had better be nowhere nearby.

"No one is welcome in my bed," Raven said. "Ever. Guest room is the first door on your left. Sleep well."

The warmth in his voice would have frozen a wildfire in its tracks. He turned on his heel, leaving Nott writhing on the ground as he retreated to his room. The door was, thankfully, locked behind him, not that it would stop a wizard, but without his wand, his options were limited.

 _Should have grabbed my knife_. It wasn't as good as a wand, but it was all he had. That, and his continued ability to defend himself.

Raven didn't pace. That required a level of restlessness he didn't feel anymore. He sat on his bed, listening as Nott's pain decreased. Listening as he raged. Faint cursing reached his ears, though he couldn't make out the words sounding beyond his walls.

The rant was silenced by a slamming door, too close to be taking him outside. Some of the tension left him. Not wasn't going to charge into this room while angry.

 _Tonight isn't good_ ," he realized. It would take time for Nott to calm, longer for him to sleep.

And he did have a commitment tomorrow.

 _One more day won't hurt,_ he reasoned as he undressed for bed. Not would be calmer tomorrow, and he could slip away then.

 _One more day_.

He'd changed his mind. Lucius Malfoy was much preferred over Theodore Nott. At least Malfoy knew how to keep his hands to himself.

~*~*~

Raven was out of the house by 10 the next morning, Nott still sulking beside him. Time hadn't seemed to cool his temper any. He hadn't said anything to Raven all morning. Had just stared at him in silent rage. It wouldn't have bothered him, but for the glimmer of desire still present.

"Raven!"

He turned from his thoughts in time to watch a small, blond, whirlwind throw herself at him. His lips twitched up as he lifted her into his arms, letting her latch onto his neck.

This was one of his little roots.

"I missed you," she said.

Children didn't trigger his aversion to touch. These ones, in particular, seemed to crave it. They got so little of it regularly, that it reminded him of his own childhood, although they had someone who actually cared.

"I told you I'd be back today."

"I know." She buried her head in his shoulder, clinging to him as though he'd vanish before her eyes.

Echoes of his name reached him. He barely had time to glance up before eight other children surrounded him, calling him, pulling at his clothes. He knew each of them.

Eliza was in his arms, a blond head of curls partially obstructing his vision, and a smile to melt any heart of ice. She'd spent most of her six years with Kesa. Raven had only been here for two of them, having found the place by accident one day. Eliza, then four, had demanded he play with her because 'Nobody else will.'

Another tug at his shirt brought his attention to Jacob, with his black hair, hazel eyes, and serious nature. He was looking behind Raven.

"Who's that?" he asked.

"Theodore Nott," Raven said. "He says he's from my past."

The children abandoned him, circling Not like sharks. Even Eliza wiggled from Raven's hold to get a better look at the stranger.

Nott glared down at them, his disgust at muggle children clear. Raven tensed, ready to step in if he did anything more than that. Most of the children cringed away, but Eliza stood her ground, staring up at the man.

"Are you his daddy?" she asked.

"No," Nott said, voice tense. "His parents are dead."

"He's really an orphan?" Chris asked, turning wide blue eyes to Raven.

"So it would seem."

Chris hugged him, wrapping his arms tightly around Raven's waist. Raven rubbed his back. At 10 (and ½), Chris had arrived shortly after Raven. It was just passed his seventh birthday when his parents died in a car accident. They never did catch the other driver.

Chris wasn't big on physical affection either, though as the oldest of the nine children, he gave it when the others wanted it. When he did need something, he usually sought Raven out.

Due to a number of reasons, Raven had been the one to take him to the funeral. Kesa had eight other children to watch over, and once he'd been dropped off, the government stopped caring about him.

Raven had seen him cry. Had later heard him scream at the unfairness of life. For a month, Raven had come every day, because grief needed time and attention. It shouldn't be ignored, or buried away.

Kesa was an amazing woman, but she was the only adult seeing to the care of nine children, one of them grieving. So, he'd helped. Never had any of the children been afraid of him, despite his lack of emotional responses.

It would hurt to leave them.

"Up?"

Eliza's voice was clear as she held her arms in the air, a clear invitation to the angry Slytherin. The man almost sneered.

_I'll kill him._

"Your legs work fine," Nott said.

Eliza's arms slowly lowered, her entire body slumping with disappointment. Raven didn't need to see her face to know what was happening. The girl's eyes had widened; her bottom lip was trembling. She'd be looking at Nott as though he'd killed her puppy (not that she'd ever had one). Tears would seem to be in her eyes. Raven had been desensitized to the look over the years, but only someone truly heartless would stand unaffected.

_Which means Nott-_

"Alright, fine. You little menace."

 _Won't be able to resist?_ Raven blinked. Apparently, there was still some sort of heart in there.

Not was openly scowling, but Eliza grinned as she rested her head on his shoulder. Eliza would have made an excellent Slytherin.

"Where's Kesa?" Raven asked, still wrapped in Chris' arms.

"Inside," he answered. "Back's hurting her."

"I need to talk to her." Raven ran his fingers through the boy's hair. "Nott, watch the kids. I'll be right back."

Chris released him with a sigh so Raven could jog inside. The kids could look after themselves, for the most part. The older ones looked after the younger ones as needed, and Kesa made sure they all had everything they needed. But, he didn't want Nott following him inside. Distracting the children would give him the time he needed.

 _Besides_ , Raven though. _If I'm Voldemort's 'most loyal', that means my rank is higher._

The building was silent when he entered. It always was with all the children outside. There was a comfort to the building he didn't feel elsewhere. Kesa was the only mother many of them ever knew - maybe ever would know. There hadn't been a single adoption in the two years he'd known of it.

Raven was the only other constant in their lives, and he wasn't a suitable role model. He leaned against the wall as he realized leaving wouldn't just hurt them. It would devastate them.

"Fuck." How could he forget that.

"Language, Raven."

_She always did have the ears of a cat._

Kesa sat in the living room, in her chair. Her eyes were closed as Raven entered, taking in how tired she looked. How old.

"Hello, Raven," she said, eyes not opening as he approached.

"Kesa." He sat nearby, taking in her appearance. Thin. Fragile. "Chris said your back was hurting you today."

She nodded, finally opening kind brown eyes. "Everything hurts more and more lately."

Raven leaned forward. "How much longer?"

"Less than a year, most likely."

Cancer was an ugly muggle disease. Last spring, Kesa admitted she had it. Attempting to beat it into remission would leave her, and everyone around her in debt. If it didn't work, she'd be dead anyway, and still have accumulated debt for no reason.

She was wasting away before his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it.

 _I wonder if magic could help_.

The thought came suddenly, and refused to leave. Tempting him with possibilities. Solutions.

"Have you told the kids yet?" He asked every week.

Like every week before, Kesa shook her head. "I don't want to worry them. They're all so young. Eliza wouldn't understand. Chris has just begun working past his own grief. The twins …"

"They deserve to know," Raven said. "It's better than you just disappearing one day."

 _Hypocrite._ He pushed the thought away. Now was not the time.

"I know." Her reply was soft. She sighed. "I don't want to cause them more pain."

"Not telling them will hurt them more."

_How can I say goodbye without warning my guard, or sending Voldemort and his Death Eaters here?_

"I was hoping you'd take over."

"What?" The word was curt from shock as his brain shorted. Him? Take care of children? Delicate innocent creatures left to his dubious care? He'd ruin them.

"They need someone they can trust," Kesa said as his brain whirled into action once more. "They trust _you._ You're one of their only constants. One of the only things they can depend on. I'd feel better if I knew you were taking care of them."

"Kesa, I-"

"You wouldn't judge them," she continued, eyes on the window where the children played.

"They're children."

"You wouldn't hate them."

"Of course not."

"You'd be good for them."

He wouldn't. He really wouldn't. "Kesa, I-"

"Oh, you're a troubled young man," Kessa said, without him ever needing to say it. He made a small noise, not of disagreement, and she looked at him, shaking her head.

"When I look at you," she continued, "I see what could happen to my kids. I see someone who's stopped caring because the world's hurt him too often. I see someone who doesn't want to admit he's in pain. I see someone who doesn't think they deserve happiness."

Raven's mouth went dry. "And you want this person looking after your kids?" _He_ wouldn't want them anywhere near them.

"Because I also see a young man who can't help but care despite how many protections he's put around himself. I see someone who will teach them to be better. To love and be loved. I see someone who will protect them to his dying breath. I see a positive role model who will do his best for these children. I see someone who will never let them down."

Raven blinked. What could he say to that? What could anyone?

"I don't think I'll be around for much longer," Raven told her softly, regret coloring his words. It wasn't something new. Regret was a constant companion.

"Why?" No judgement in her voice, just a request for more information.

Raven sighed. There was only so much he could tell her. Muggles couldn't know about magic. And, Kesa believed his memories lost, just like everyone else did.

"I met someone," he said, cringing as he realized what that sounded like. "From my past. So they say."

"That's good." Kesa smiled, but it slowly faded as she looked at him. "Isn't it? It's about time something back into that head of yours."

Raven shook his head. "They don't seem like the nicest people, and I don't think they'll take no for an answer."

Kesa stared at him for several long minutes, giving him the same, sharp disappointed stare she gave her kids when they were bad. He didn't squirm. He didn't. Not even if she reminded him of Mrs. Weasley then, or Professor McGonagle. He didn't. But only because he froze.

"You're going to run."

It wasn't a question, but it put all her disappointment into words. Raven resisted the urge to cringe away, and nodded once. He sounded like a coward.

_Maybe I am._

Running was the cowards way out, but he couldn't fight. He didn't have it in him anymore. Every reason he had to fight was dead. The war had taken everything from him. He wouldn't let it take everything else.

"As soon as I can," he said. "I'll write to the kids, each of them, and let them know."

"Raven-"

"It's probably best if no one knew how often I came, or what I did here. Safer for everyone involved."

"Do you think they'd hurt the kids?" Kesa's fingers gripped the chair. Even in her weakened state, she would protect them. They were _her_ children.

"Maybe. I don't know. It's better for everyone if I don't come back."

She nodded slowly, still eyeing him. Those eyes saw more than he wanted. They always had.

"You're afraid."

"No."

"Don't lie," she sighed, leaning forward, her eyes taking hold of Raven's and keeping them. "It's alright to be afraid," she said. "Sometimes, the fear is legitimate. Sometimes, it isn't. Sometimes, you have to face your fears to realize they're not so bad."

The urge to laugh bubbled up, but never passed his lips. If she only knew how accurate fear was.

"Perhaps they can help you."

"Help with what?"

Kesa sighed, just looking at him. He avoided her gaze, the same one she got when the kids were being deliberately obtuse.

"They don't seem the type to help anyone, Kesa," he said. "And I can't be sure they aren't lying to me."

"There are levels of lying," she replied. "Perhaps it's not as bad as you think."

It was. He couldn't say that, but it was. The man had killed his entire family, and was trying to pretend it never happened. Or that something could be fixed.

Instead of answering, Raven withdrew an envelope from his pocket, handing it over to her.

"Raven, no."

"We have this conversation every week," he said, hand not wavering. "It's for the kids. It's a donation. Tax deductible."

It would be the last one he could give them. Sighing, Kesa took it, feeling the heft.

"There's more here than normal."

"Last night was lucrative."

"The children are going to be devastated."

"I know."

He stood, leaving the room without another word. Outside her gaze, Raven leaned against the wall, hand to his chest. It already hurt, and he hadn't said goodbye. Those letters were going to tear him apart.

Pulling himself together, Raven left. Outside, the children had conned Nott into playing a game of Red Rover. His scowl was ridiculous, surrounded as he was by small children.

_I would have enjoyed that conversation._

Eliza was the first to notice him. She always was. In the midst of chanting voices and swinging arms, she broke free of the others and raced for knelt, catching her in his arms as she collided into his chest.

The others abandoned their game, leaving Nott free once more.

 _Their clothes are worn_. Raven noticed. Not quite threadbare, Kesa wouldn't allow that, and none of them had holes. Kesa was quick to repair anything that needed it. But, nothing fit quite right, all of it a little too big. There just wasn't enough money to go around, not even with Raven's contributions.

 _I could fix that_.

The thought was one he'd had before. An untouched vault sat in Gringotts, waiting for someone to use it. If he could get to it, he could exchange something into pounds. He could get them new clothes. Brand new. And toys, anything they wanted. But, he'd never been able to follow through with the desire. Diagon Alley was too dangerous for the hidden.

 _But I've been found_ , the little voice whispered at the back of his mind. _I could help them now._

Too dangerous. He'd have to play along until he was reintroduced to the alley. The longer he remained, the harder it would be to slip away. The more eyes would be on him, waiting for any slip.

He couldn't do it. He couldn't risk it. It would get him all tied up in that world again. He couldn't risk it.

~*~*~

That night, Raven went out with his coworkers, as promised. They bought him drinks to loosen him up, then pulled him out onto the dance floor. They rarely touched him except when necessary. Surrounded by his coworkers, he was mainly safe from unwanted touch, and the few he garnered were easy to slither away from. People were here for fun, not a fight. If he wasn't interested, there were easier targets available.

Club dancing was nothing like what they did for work. The drinks loosened him up enough that he let his body move to the beat, mainly bouncing in place with the others, watching them grind together, or with other dancers. Man and woman alike.

It wasn't as horrible as he'd thought it would be, but he was tired before his companions. Tired of the music. Tired of the press of people. Tired of Nott standing at the side glaring doom at the room. Tired of guilt and regret eating at him.

They saw him off with grins and another drink, wishing him well and safe journeys. Nott, they ignored, but seeing as he'd insulted them all within 10 minutes of meeting them, Raven didn't blame them in the slightest.

As soon as the apartment door closed, Not attempted to seduce him again. He sidled up, murmuring compliments like they made a difference. Like Raven's inebriated state made any difference in his willingness to sleep with the man.

He pushed away Nott's attempt to take hold of his hips.

"Don't touch me."

"Come on, Raven," he said. "You know you want me. All your little whore muggles did too."

Before Raven could answer, Nott had wrapped his arms around him, trapping him against the taller man's chest.

"Release me. Now."

"Stop fighting me." Then, he shoved his hand down Raven's pants, despite the tight fit. Not bent forward, mouthing at Raven's neck.

Raven didn't freeze. His hand went for the knife in his pocket. Nott was too busy reaching for Raven's dick to notice him flipping it open. He wasn't careful as he slashed at Notts arm. Unfortunately, not the one groping him.

Raven stumbled as Nott jerked away.

"Fucking bitch," Nott spat.

Raven turned on him, brandishing the blade. Nott held his arm, already bleeding.

 _Deep cut,_ he noted absently. Normally, he was careful to control that. Muggles rarely got that far, and a little pain was all he needed to discourage them. Nott needed more than a little incentive to leave him alone.

"If you touch me again," Raven said, his pleasant buzz dying a silent death, "I will castrate you."

The anger sizzled beneath the surface. Raven channeled it as he stood, threatening the Death Eater with a muggle weapon.

"Do you understand?"

"I'll kill you, Potter."

Raven smirked, his anger warming in him a way alcohol hadn't.

"You'll need to discuss that with your lord," he sneered. "Can't magic heal? You're getting blood on my carpet."

Nott snarled at him. Raven just walked away, once again locking his door. His knife never left his hand. If the man attempted something, he'd be ready.

He slept fitfully that night. Between waking, he dreamt of nine happy children in bright, crisp, clear, new clothes, playing with brand new toys.

He woke the next day with a plan. It was a bad plan, but no one ever said he was good at them. Nor had anyone said his self-preservation was stronger than his instinct for self-sacrifice.

On the bright side, Nott didn't talk to him at all that day. It wasn't the punishment he seemed to think it was.

~*~*~

_Severus_

The potion was a perfect cerulean simmering before him on low heat. Ingredients neatly lined his table, each something he'd need today, already carefully prepared except for those which lost strength the longer they remained dice, ground, or powdered.

He carefully sprinkled in the powdered root, the second application of it as he stirred clockwise, twice counter once. Clockwise twice more. He'd need to do that twice more, once for every person the dark lord had chosen as one of Potter's confidants.

It was a delicate process. The potion was sensitive before he'd altered it. Now, one wrong move could blow it up as easily as ever Longbottom, or Finnigan managed with far simpler concoctions, but there was no hesitation, or unease, in his movements.

Hesitation did not belong in potion making. Hesitation led to mistakes. Mistakes led to death.

After five years, Severus had thought the boy gone - either dead, or vanished into some muggle city miles away never to be seen again. He'd watched the boy fall apart. It was a wonder it hadn't happened sooner, but Severus had known it would happen eventually, even if no one else had. It was all too much to put on a child. Any child. Even a Potter.

One way or another, he hadn't expected to see Potter again. Not after he'd left everything behind. Not after he'd abandoned everyone to their fate. Not after he'd shattered the way he had.

What he hadn't expected, was for Potter to still be in London. He hadn't expected Potter to have forgotten everything. He hadn't expected any of this.

This potion was the least invasive option. The least dangerous to Potter in the long run, even if the dark lord had chosen three of the worst people to be the boy's confidants.

Lucius wasn't terrible. His sanity was at least present at all times, even if he sometimes ignored it for more expedient options.

Evan and Bellatrix, however, would twist the boy up, and he would never be the same. Even on good days, neither could be called sane. If they didn't kill him, the confusion they caused would be far worse.

And yet, neither of them were as bad as the dark lord himself. Severus could see plans filling the man's head. Dark desires which would leave the boy a crumpled mess once more.

And his memories would return. Severus would see to that. It would be delicate work, but unless a spell had caused their absence, there were a variety of potions that could encourage memory retrieval. Several of which Potter was allergic to.

 _No matter,_ He decided as he sprinkled in the last round of Bulgarian Strangler Root. _I'll figure something out. I always do._

Someone tapped on the door. Severus blinked, but stepped away from the cauldron. It would need to sit for 34 minutes before anything else happened. Either it was an impressive coincidence, or someone had planned their arrival this way.

The door opened before he got there, because Evan Rosier barely extended niceties to the dark lord, and never anyone else. Severus glared.

"What are you doing here, Rosier?" he demanded. "You're not needed until tomorrow."

"I'm aware," Rosier said, his eyes on the ingredients laid out, and the potion gently simmering.

"Then why are you here?"

"You're not the only one with an interest in potions."

Severus grit his teeth. "This is a delicate potion," he said. "I will not have an amateur wandering about my lab until it has stabilized."

Severus stepped into his path, pulling himself to his full height, preventing the man from entering further. Evan smiled, a close lipped thing that made him seem more dangerous than any of his full teeth-baring ones.

Severus held his ground, staring down at the man. Spell work would cause the potion to explode, which would delay giving it to Potter. However, Rosier was one of the dark lord's most formidable wizards. Anything he cast would hurt, and not just from the explosion.

"Did you know," Rosier said," that adding ground pixie wings thirty minutes after the strangler root can intensify the visions?"

Severus paused. "34 minutes," Severus answered. "It increases the clarity and vividness of the visions, and allows a greater depth of detail."

He stepped aside, showing Rosier the small bowl of ground pixie wings already sitting beside the cauldron. He crossed his arms.

"If that's all, Rosier."

That smile grew, Rosier's eyes too amused for Severus' liking.

"Did you also know that sprinkling a pinch of Shaved unicorn horn between stages can allow the drinker to feel the visions?"

Severus paused, staring at Rosier. That wasn't common knowledge. It had been tested a few times, but the side-effects were often disheartening.

"The side effects of adding the horn are often more detrimental than the minor additions."

The smile grew. "The dark lord wishes you to add Unicorn horn. He says it will add believability to Potter's experience."

"Does the dark lord also know it can make him sick?" Severus demanded. "Or can harm his mental facilities - what little there is. Or can disrupt Potter's magical control?"

"It will also neutralize most attempts to regain Potter's memories," Rosier said, "which the dark lord is more concerned with just now."

Severus' frown deepened. "Potter is allergic to most memory reclamation Potions, which the order is aware of."

"Most, but not all.," Rosier shrugged. "It is his will, Severus. Unless you want to defy him."

Severus scoffed. "For Potter? Hardly. If he wants to deal with Potter's inability to control himself, he is welcome to."

Rosier always made him uncomfortable. Dark eyes saw too much. Knew too much, but rarely said anything. He gave Severus that look now.

"I'll inform him," Rosier said.

"And I must return to work," Severus agreed, staring down the Death Eater.

Rosier continued to grin at him, and when he left, Severus knew it was because _he_ decided it was time, and not anything Severus had done. He didn't lock the door behind Rosier, if only because doing so would be admitting defeat.

Once certain the man had gone, Severus returned to his table. The potion was the right color. Still stable. Still on schedule. He retrieved a jar from one of the many shelves lining the room. Inside was a single long horn of spiraling silver. He moved that to the table.

Of 33 possible memory retrieval potions, Potter was allergic to the Ginkgo Biloba in 12 of them, and the Vacha used in another 9.

 _And hadn't those been interesting classes?_ Severus thought. Watching the boy seize on the ground had terrified most of the glass. Granger had been inconsolable. Longbottom had blown something up - again. And Weasley had accused Severs of poisoning the brat. Even Draco had looked pale, for all that he claimed to loathe Potter.

Of the 12 remaining, nine would be countered by the unicorn horn in Potter's system because of the - potentially - dangerous ingredients. That left three possibilities, all of which were difficult and complicated to brew. Only a master could manage it. If Potter began remembering too early, the dark lord's attention would immediately turn to Severus.

Unless the Order could get hold of him, they were going to have to wait.

Even so, he sent a silent apology to Lily.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry deals with a crush of people that will not leave him alone. And people touching him.

"My lord wants you to wear this."

Nott shoved a box at Raven, forcing him to take it, or let it fall to the ground. Even he wasn't that impolite. He took it.

Thankfully, Nott had finally stopped calling Voldemort 'our' lord. It had taken Raven sitting him down and informing him that Raven had no lord. Was, in fact, his own person. It had also taken a threat of bodily harm, which Raven didn't regret.

He opened the box. Fabric, a shade of green darker than emerald, sat in the box. Dress robes. They were folded in such a way as to allow him to see the gold and silver trim.

 _Gryffindor and Slytherin?_ He wondered.

The cloth appeared to be fine quality, and would likely look fine, but he wondered at its size. He'd never been fitted for dress robes before, and no one had come recently either, which made them guesswork.

_This is going to be a disaster._

"They're dress robes," Nott said, taking his silence for confusion. "Lord Voldemort has planned a party to celebrate your return."

"What kind of party?"

"Formal, given the robes," Nott sneered, shoving his way past Raven.

He sighed. Nott had been an arse the last two days, ever since Raven sliced him open. But, he hadn't tried it again. He'd put up with the attitude before anything else Nott wanted.

"I'm not sure I'll go," Raven called after him. "I still haven't gotten any proof."

"You'll get it tonight!"

_He's still angry. Good._

Raven had kept busier than normal, doing things so disgustingly muggle, most purebloods would have abandoned him ages ago. Not Nott.

He shifted the box, feeling the fabric, soft and sleek under his fingers. What proof could Voldemort have? It wasn't as though he could show Raven the truth, not if he actually wanted to sell Raven as a Death Eater.

"What time is it?" Raven called, knowing Nott had already closed his door.

Not stormed back, causing a vindictive surge of satisfaction to rise in him. Raven just stared at him.

"It's impolite to _shout_ across a house," he snapped.

Raven arched an eyebrow. "It's my home," he said, "and you are an unwelcome guest forced upon me. What time is the party?"

"We leave at 7."

If Voldemort wanted them to be friends, he would be disappointed. As Nott stormed back to his room, Raven wondered who would be assigned as 'Harry's best friend.'

He doubted anyone would be able to pull it off. There was too much bad blood between them. Too much anger and hate. Malfoy had been polite, but not overly friendly.

He sighed, carrying the box to his room. As nice as it looked, he didn't appreciate being told what to wear. The box was dropped on his bed, attention going to his wardrobe. He could wear something else. It would piss off every pureblood in attendance, but it would also tell them he wouldn't be controlled.

 _Don't make waves_ , he told himself. _Don't draw attention to yourself. You have a plan. Don't deviate._

He never had been good at making plans.

When he left his room, over an hour later, the dress robes were a little big on him. They were usable, and not uncomfortable, but he was no longer used to robes.

Nott appreciated it, if the lust in his gaze was anything to go by. He had his knife tucked somewhere safe, but with their time constraint, he didn't think Nott would try anything.

_Didn't think he'd try anything last time, either._

Not held out his arm. Raven arched an eyebrow.

"You want me to touch you?"

"We're apparating," Nott growled. "It's the only way to get there in time."

Lucius had apparated them out last time, so he couldn't pretend to not know what it was. Still, he didn't want Nott to think he _wanted_ to touch him. So, he drew closer, touching the tips of his fingers to Nott's arm. The man growled, jerking him into a more secure hold before apparating away.

He wanted to, but he didn't struggle. It wasn't worth the possible splinching. Right now, Nott wouldn't try too hard to keep that from happening, and Raven didn't relish losing an arm, Not when he had to meet Voldemort.

He kept his balance upon landing only by leaning against Nott. The man shivered under the touch, despite his anger. Raven touched people so rarely, it always affected his more avid fans. Nott's grip tightened, but Raven pulled away, refusing to be in contact longer than necessary.

"Mr. Potter. Welcome."

The name didn't register immediately, though he turned to the voice regardless. Raven nodded at the elder Malfoy, dressed in his usual black and silver, though of far better quality than his normal attire.

"Nott, you're wanted in the meeting room," Malfoy said, voice cooling. "Immediately."

"Of course."

Raven didn't watch him go. Malfoy glanced between Raven and the departing figure.

"I hope he wasn't too unbearable," he said. "Nott never did like you much. Too much power."

Raven laughed, the sound short and unamused. "I'm sure he'd have been very pleasant, had I been willing to accommodate him properly."

Malfoy arched an eyebrow, but Raven didn't feel the need to elaborate. What did it really matter if Nott wanted to fuck him?

"Harr- Mr. Potter." The man hesitated.

Raven stared at him in muffled amazement. He'd actually sounded like he'd wanted to call him by his name. As though it were something he'd done regularly in the past.

 _Has he been chosen as my 'friend'?_ That would make things interest. _What will it take to break him?_

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry Potter was dead. Had been for years. Unfortunately, he would have to be resurrected. For a while anyway.

"Nothing, Mr. Potter. You were missed is all."

Raven blinked. He sounded serious. Malfoy was a master manipulator, but he had to admit himself impressed. What did someone say to that?

"I see your robes are loose."

"Are they?"

"I suppose you've lost weight," Malfoy said, withdrawing his wand. "These were made based on previous measurements."

 _You never had my measurements._ He didn't say anything, standing still as Malfoy flicked his wand. Raven's robes resized, forming about his torso. He made small adjustments, testing the fit. Surprisingly, Malfoy had a good eye. It wasn't tight, and was still comfortable to move in.

"Interesting," he murmured. "Shall we?"

He turned to go, eager to get this over with, interested in what Voldemort would produce. Malfoy stopped him. A hand on his arm managed to take his attention without triggering his need for space.

Raven pulled away, not wanting anyone to get too close. No one should just touch him. Malfoy let him, but his gaze held a question.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Why did you choose to work there?"

Raven arched an eyebrow. Of all the questions available, he hadn't expected that. Almost five years ago, it had been the only job he could get. With little muggle documentation, and no muggle education - his options had been limited. He hadn't planned on staying this long, but he'd grown to enjoy it.

Raven smirked at Malfoy, feeling a change come over him.

"You were there," Raven said, amusement coloring his voice as he pitched it low and seductive. His work voice. Malfoy shifted under the gaze, causing his smirk to widen.

"I have power over them, I own them, and they know it," Raven purred. "They can't do anything about it. What's more, they don't want to."

Raven stepped closer, putting a bare inch between them as he gazed up. Malfoy blinked down at him, shifting again, his discomfort becoming obvious. But discomfort of what?

"They will do anything I want them to, if only I would deign to … touch … them."

Raven reached up, running fingers over Malfoy's clothed arm

"I would appreciate it, Mr. Potter, if you would step back."

"Is that really what you want?" Raven asked, wondering how far he could push the man. Malfoy was an opportunist. If he could forge an alliance, he would do so.

"Surely, you're … curious." He slid his hands up Malfoy's chest, a slow deliberate glide, feeling the wizard's trim form.

Malfoy took hold of his wrists, physically pushing Raven away. He blinked. That never happened.

"Truthfully, it disturbs me to see you like this," Malfoy said. "The Harry I know would never stoop to manipulations like this. I thought I taught you better."

"Taught me better?" Raven asked, eyes narrowing as he pulled himself from Malfoy's grip. "What exactly did you teach me?"

"I taught you how to be a proper wizard," Malfoy said. "I taught you how to earn, and keep, someone's respect. I taught you everything you'd need to know to hold your title."

_Title? What title?_

"Everything your father should have done, were he still alive. It is horrifying to see someone I saw as a son lowering himself so much as what I witnessed in that building."

"There is nothing wrong with what I do," Raven said, for now ignoring the 'son' comment for the more important issue. "I am not ashamed of what it, and that you can't 'approve' of a career that promotes sexual appreciation tells me everything I need to know about you, Mr. Malfoy."

Raven turned away. He could find his own way. Or get lost. Either way would remove him from Malfoy's antiquated ideals.

"They're _muggles_."

Raven paused, blinking. "Muggles?"

_That's the problem?_

"People without magic," Malfoy said. "Beneath you, and would sooner try to kill you if they ever knew what you are." Malfoy circled him, staring down at him with what looked like real concern.

"You are so much better than _them_ , Harry."

 _He is good_ , Raven thought.

"If you want to … dance, so be it." Despite the hidden grimace, Malfoy appeared to mean it. "But, do it with us. Where you're safer. Where your patrons will be better than common animals panting after you like a bitch in heat."

The language threw him. Lucius Malfoy didn't cuss. It always seemed beneath the man. It was convincing. Raven found himself half convinced, and he knew the man was talking out his ass. He stared at Malfoy.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?"

"Yes. Shall we go now?"

Malfoy nodded. He led the way from the apparition point, through the gorgeous halls and generations of history.

_I suppose every Malfoy knows everything about their ancestors._

A spark of jealousy, quickly smothered. What did it matter what they knew if they couldn't show common decency to others?

"You're proud of your lineage."

Malfoy nodded once. "We've much to be proud of. As do the Potters, your own family line."

"Do they?"

"Of course. Both your parents were accomplished wizards. Your mother especially was gifted in charms application. Your father was a talented quidditch player in his youth, a skill you inherited much to Draco's dismay."

"Draco?" Raven asked, knowing it was expected of him.

_Did Malfoy just compliment a muggleborn?_

"My son, and a school rival of yours."

"I see."

Truth and lies peppered together in a disturbing, if convincing version of reality. Rivalries were more believable than a fantasy where everyone welcomed and adored him. No one liked everyone. No one was liked by everyone.

Was this Malfoy's decision, or had Voldemort regrown his brain in the last five years?

"I suppose we grew out of it later."

Malfoy chuckled. "Not exactly, although your rivalry took a healthier form as you grew up and joined the same side. By the time you disappeared, we didn't worry about you killing each other."

The man paused before a set of double doors, which opened on their own. The ballroom was huge, packed with people who's quiet chatter didn't drown out the music drifting over the crowd. Orchestral. Maybe. He couldn't see the source, and he wasn't well enough versed in musical instruments to be convinced of his decision. It was nice, in an unimposing way. It would never fit the club.

Several people near the door glanced over, staring as Raven and Malfoy entered. A few of the faces were recognizable, though most were nameless. Random Death Eaters he'd seen in the Department of Mysteries, or in a fight. More were unknown to him. How many of them were going to pretend they were 'great fans', 'love your work', 'Always knew you'd come back, Mr. Potter'.

Nothing had really changed. Just the faces. Just who was in charge, and who was trying to curry favor from him.

"Lord Voldemort organized this to celebrate your return," Lucius said, leading him inside.

_I'm sure he did._

"There's a lot of people."

"Some you knew. Some you didn't. Everyone wants to reassure themselves of your return."

"What makes me so special?" Raven asked, playing his part, wondering what Malfoy would say.

"There he is!" A familiar voice screeched over the crowd.

" _I killed Sirius Black!_ "

Raven turned, seeing a familiar woman shove her way through the crowd, a wide grin on her lips. A manic gleam in her eyes. Raven tensed. She was going to kill him. He didn't have his wand. Voldemort might punish her later - maybe - but it wouldn't matter, because he would be dead. She was-

-going to choke him with her hair.

Raven coughed, attempting to avoid the strands dedicated to finding his windpipe as Bellatrix Lestrange squeezed him.

"Harry!" she cooed, rocking to each side, forcing Raven to move with her, or break something. "My little Harry."

Raven attempted to break her hold, his discomfort rising. This woman always meant him harm. Her grip tightened.

"Oh, my little Harry," she continued. "I've missed you. Was worried, I was. How was my ickle Harry? Where had he gone? Was he okay? I wondered, and here you are!"

"Bellatrix, release him," Malfoy sighed. "It won't do you any good to suffocate him."

Though she hesitated, Bellatrix did release him to glare at Malfoy with a pout. The effect was odd, though fitting the insane woman, and Raven wanted distance between him and her.

Unfortunately, attempting to pull further away drew her attention back to him. She tsked softly, hands straightening his robes, dragging him back each time he put more than a few inches between them.

"Look how you've grown up," she exclaimed, loudly, as she worked. "All grown up! Where did my scrawny little boy go?"

When her hands moved to his hair, Raven took the opportunity to put some space between them. Her expression fell. He wasn't going to let anyone touch him unnecessarily. Everything about this woman was unnecessary.

"He doesn't remember you," Rodolphus said as he approached. He gave Raven a nod, but didn't invade his space like others had. Grateful, Raven nodded back, but he continued to eye Bellatrix warily.

"It's not fair!" Bellatrix pouted. Raven almost expected her to stomp her foot. Tantrums weren't unheard of at the orphanage, and eight year old Christine was infamous for her stomping foot.

Bellatrix didn't, which proved she had a little more maturity than a child. How much remained to be seen. Raven suspected he'd learn sooner, rather than later.

"You and Bellatrix were close," Lucius said, drawing closer.

_Who could be close with that?_

"Of course we were close," Bellatrix said. "I'm his mummy."

Raven's shock allowed her to envelope him in another hug.

_Good lord, are they all crazy?_

For once, the contact was a good thing. Raven's expression cracked as horror flooded him. Her hair hid it from view, otherwise, everyone would know how he felt that _that_ particular lie.

A lie Nott already revealed. Raven squirmed out of her grip, the only way to force her to release him.

"I thought my parents were dead."

Bellatrix waved the statement away. "They are," she agreed, taking his face between her hands and cooing at him. "But my ickle baby Harry needed a mummy, and those nasty blood traitors wouldn't give you one."

Raven bit his tongue to keep himself from saying anything, and once again tried to extract himself from her grip. Unsuccessfully.

"So, I'm your mummy."

Then, she released him, her hands going to his hair once more. This time, he wasn't able to pull away.

"I took good care of you," Bellatrix continued, almost wistful in her supposed remembrance. "I fed you, and watered you, and clothed you. I made your hair neat and tidy. You were my pretty little baby."

_I sound more like a bloody doll._

"And now you've come back home!"

 _And she chokes me again,_ he thought as she enveloped him in the third hug in five minutes. THe more he squirmed, the tighter she held on.

"Bellatrix, perhaps you should give him some space."

Raven never thought he'd bless Lucius Malfoy, but the man was quickly becoming his favorite Death Eater. He didn't seek unnecessary touching, and he was stepping in to get the crazy woman away.

Unfortunately, she didn't release him.

"Bellatrix, you're choking him."

 _Rodolphus is alright too,_ raven decided as Bellatrix finally pulled away with a wrinkled nose.

"That's not my job," she said, which made no sense.

_Does anything she say?_

"I do enjoy breathing," Raven told her, putting a little distance between them. Maybe, if he was verbally supportive, she'd keep her hands to herself.

"Everybody was," Bellatrix said. "But sometimes, you just want to stop, and that's okay too. Just remember, you have to trust him first."

Raven blinked. _Did she just …_

His renewed shock was enough to let her brush her thumb over his scar.

"Bellatrix!" Malfoy hissed, sounding scandalized. "This is not the place for that."

Bellatrix tsked again. "You're always so uptight, Lucius. You're going to make him think he's not wanted."

 _Oh, no worries about that._ The amount of effort everyone had gone to guaranteed that. It wasn't their fault he didn't want to be near any of them.

_Well, actually, it is, but they don't know I know._

"I merely said-"

"You call me Bella," she interrupted. "Mummy Bella if you wanted something." She winked.

Raven blinked. _Is this my life right now?_

"This is my husband, Rodolphus." She waved back at the man. "You'll remember him soon."

"Harry."

"It's Raven."

"Right."

Bellatrix waved Raven's arm. "Be nice. You'll always be our Harry, dear. Our little boy."

The woman teared up as she gazed at him. Raven debated inching away. There was another hug in her look. And teras. How did anyone deal with a teary female. Bellatrix would be worse. She had to be. If she even _could_ cry. Raven didn't think she was actually capable of it.

Thankfully, she didn't get any worse. She did take his arm, dragging him close to her side and pulling him deeper into the ballroom. Once again, attempts to extract himself were unsuccessful. She was very strong.

"I don't like to be touched," he tried.

"Nonsense." She patted his arm. "You're back where you belong, and you have nothing to worry about from us."

_This woman is crazy. Absolutely insane._

Raven was dragged before Death Eaters, and Death Eater supporters. Some, he recognized. Most he didn't. Five years had been good to Voldemort, it seemed. Just from listening to everyone, the dark lord now ruled Magical Britain, and everything was on the rise.

 _What about the muggleborns?_ The question was never vocalized. He wasn't even supposed to know the word, let alone Voldemort's stance on anything.

An hour in, he was just tired. Everyone was talking at him. Touching him. Calling him "so good to see you again, Harry." "We missed you, Harry." "I knew you'd come back, Harry."

Harry was dead. He died five years ago with the corpses of his soul. Harry was buried away, never to return, and yet he couldn't even summon up a proper anger. It was too much effort.

Finally, someone distracted Bellatrix enough for him to vanish into the crowd. The press of people staring at him never eased, but he was used to eyes. It happened every time he performed. Without Bellatrix, dragging him to people, no one tried to talk to him. No one tried to touch him.

Mostly.

As he was getting a drink on the other side of the ballroom from Bellatrix, another vaguely familiar voice stopped him.

"Harry Potter."

He sighed, turning to face the speaker. She was as familiar as her voice. Vaguely. She smiled at him. Raven wouldn't have recognized her but for the man with her. Draco Malfoy hadn't changed much in five years, but he did take after his mother. Physically.

Narcissa Malfoy left her son, holding out her hands to Raven, palms down in an obvious request.

 _At least she asked,_ he decided, setting his drink down to take them in hand.

"Though I hear you go by Raven now."

He nodded.

"Interesting," she said, voice soft in the crowded room. Delicate. Gentle. Something that requested confidence, and promised it in return. "I would never have thought of naming you after an animal."

Raven blinked. "Annaliss thought my hair looked like a raven's wing in the midst of windstorm," he told her. "It was a temporary name."

"Until your memory returned."

It wasn't a question. He nodded.

"I'm Narcissa Malfoy. You've met my husband."

"Lucius."

"Yes." She smiled, then released Raven's hands to reach for her son, who obliged. "This is my son, Draco."

"Dragon?" Raven asked, distantly enjoying the way the blond's ears pinked.

"The constellation," Narcissa said, "As you've been told before."

The tone of her voice suggested she'd had to tell _someone_ before. Multiple times. Likely someone she cared for to get that level of fond exasperation right.

"Right," Raven murmured. She gripped his hand, the touch, surprisingly, not confining.

"I never thought I'd get my boys together again," she said.

"You're boys?" Raven asked, before he could stop himself. Was Narcissa hoping to put _herself_ in as a Mother figure? How would that work?

Narcissa smiled. "You were closer with Bellatrix," she said, "but you were one of my boys. Even if you and Draco were always fighting."

Draco shrugged. "I can't help it if he was always wrong."

Raven scoffed. "Right," he said, staring at the tall blond.

He didn't need to say anything else. Draco bristled, eyes narrowing at him in burgeoning anger.

"Boys," Narcissa's voice was still gentle, but gained a firmness that would not be ignored. It deflated her son immediately.

_Interesting talent, that._

"This is _not_ the time," she continued. "Save your bonding for later."

"Yes, Mother," Draco murmured.

Raven just shrugged one shoulder, but willingly changed the subject to something more amenable for a party. Something he'd be expected to ask with the information he had at hand.

"You're father mentioned we didn't get along."

Draco hesitated. "We were on opposite sides of a war," he answered finally. "Eventually, you discovered the truth, and we … began repairing things between us."

"I see."

"Tell me, Harry," Narcissa paused, eyes narrowing. " _Do_ you prefer Raven?"

"I do."

She nodded, gently drawing him closer. She released Draco and slid her arm through Raven's. He barely felt her touch, it was so light. For the first time that night, someone's touch didn't trap him somewhere. Into something. He could have pulled away, and she'd let him. He didn't. But he could have.

"Raven, then. Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Mum!" Draco hissed.

"No," Raven answered, a sinking feeling growing in his gut. Was she about to set Draco Malfoy up as something more than a rival/lover?

"Boyfriend?"

"Bloody hell, mum."

"Language, Draco."

"No," Raven answered, glancing between Narcissa and her son. "Were you hoping he and I …" He couldn't even say it.

Thankfully, Narcissa laughed softly, and her son couldn't hide the shudder of disgust.

 _Good._ Raven's skin crawled at the thought of doing anything with the Slytherin.

"Of course not. Our lord would kill him for even thinking of it."

Raven blinked. "Why would he care who I dated?"

Narcissa shrugged. "He's always been a possessive man."

_I do not like the sound of that._

"If you stay in one place for much longer, Bellatrix will find you."

Raven glanced around them, as if the mere mention of her name could summon her. He wouldn't put it past her. So, he didn't fight when Narcissa tugged him forward. Draco fell into step on the other side.

"How long have you known me?" Raven asked.

Narcissa nodded to a small group as they walked, but didn't stop to talk with them.

"We met for the first time when you were 14," she answered.

"Briefly," Draco added. "You were rude to her."

_She was sneering at us._

"Draco," Narcissa chided. "You're being rude now."

Draco muttered an apology, looking away from them. Narcissa laid a hand on his arm. This woman seemed entirely different from what he remembered. Kinder.

_There aren't any muggleborns around. Or Weasleys._

"The second time, you were almost 16," Narcissa continued. "Due to negligence of care and attention, your godfather was killed, and several of your allies were put into danger."

 _That's almost the truth._ Once again, these people twisted reality to suit them without changing the facts too much. How had they learned to do that? How had they decided which aspects to keep?

"What happened?" Raven asked.

Narcissa paused, hesitating.

Draco huffed. "This is a party," he said. "Do you really want to talk about how people died?"

"I'm trying to learn."

Draco eyed him again, out of sorts with his calm response. None of them had seen him since Ron and Hermione were killed, but surely someone told them about his lack of emotional response. There'd been ample opportunity for people to witness it.

_Maybe he just didn't believe it._

"Draco's right," Narcissa said. "This is a happy occasion. We should be talking of happier times. There's time enough for everything else.

Raven shrugged. It didn't matter what they talked about. None of it would be real.

"Did I have friends?"

"Of course," Narcissa smiled.

"Are they here?"

"No, unfortunately, not."

"Why not? Don't they want to see me again?"

"They'd dead," Draco told him, eyes scanning the crowd.

"Draco," Narcissa hissed.

"They are," he insisted. "No point lying about that, Mother."

"It's better that I know," Raven agreed.

Narcissa's smile was sad. "You were always so brave. So selfless. You burnt out."

Raven's response was to shrug. Maybe he had. Maybe he hadn't. He doubted she'd know one way or the other. He might have said something suitably vague, but his scar distracted him, announcing Voldemort's arrival better than the sweeping silence.

Every eye turned to the entrance. Raven couldn't see the man immediately, but Narcissa handled him to the edge of the parting crowd. They didn't move, but others did, creating a walk path for the dark lord.

Just behind Voldemort was an older man who looked a lot like Theodore Nott, Walden McNair, and someone he thought was Evan Rosier - a man most thought had died in the first war. When he'd left five years ago, Rosier wasn't kept that close to the dark lord. He was kept in the shadows. A silent killer.

_What's changed in five years?_

None of them remained with the dark lord. As he swept down the cleared aisle, the three men faded into the crowd, disappearing from view.

_What were they talking about before?_

He shoved the thought away. It had nothing to do with him. These thoughts would only get him bound back up in everything. If there was one thing he wanted to avoid. It was that.

Still on his arm, Narcissa curtsied low. On her other side, Draco bowed. The entire ballroom dipped low as Voldemort approached. Everyone except Raven, who watched it all with dispassionate eyes.

Raven had never bowed to Voldemort. He wasn't going to start now. The worst Voldemort could do was kill him, and he didn't seem inclined to do that yet.

_Merlin knows why._

Voldemort looked at him, his eyes flashing with amusement - still an odd look for the man. He paused before Raven, eyes trailing over his figure. A slow caress of his eyes. Not something the dark lord had ever given him before. Not something he ever wanted to experience again. He didn't frown. He didn't shift uncomfortably. He had more control than that.

"Ah, Harry." He seemed pleased about something, but also angry. Who had pissed him off?

"I hope you're enjoying yourself."

Raven shrugged. "Not my kind of scene. I'm still waiting for that proof."

Voldemort smiled. It wasn't reassuring.

"You'll get it, Harry. Tonight. After the party."

He reached up, fingers going for Raven's hair. Raven pulled away, mouth tightening. Why did everyone insist on _touching_ him? Voldemort, he could almost understand. THe man liked seeing him in pain, and an easy way to do that was to touch him. That didn't mean Raven was going to let it happen.

Voldemort smiled, which continued to not reassure him at all. It was objectively a nice smile, but it was still wrong.

"Enjoy the party, Harry," he said, finally moving along.

The ballroom remained silent as the dark lord continued on his way. As he took a seat at the throne set up at the end of the ballroom, the aisle flowed closed once more. Chatter filled the room.

Bellatrix attached herself to Raven's arm.

Raven didn't even try to shrug her off. Until she released him, there was no escape. Narcissa released his other arm, so he wasn't trapped between the two of them.

"Bellatrix, really," Narcissa sighed.

"He's my boy," Bellatrix snapped, dragging Raven away hard enough that he actually stumbled after her.

Bellatrix didn't lead him to another crowd. She dragged him out onto a balcony he hadn't seen. As they left the press of people, Raven relaxed. He could handle one person, even if it was Bellatrix Lestrange.

The fresh air helped.

"You left me," Bellatrix snapped, shoving Raven away from her.

"I needed a moment alone."

"You found _Narcissa_!"

"She found me," Raven answered slowly. Why was she so angry? Surely she didn't think Raven would attach himself to her every second of the party.

"Do you prefer her to me?"

Raven blinked. _She's jealous? Of me?_ Of Voldemort's favor, more likely. Raven had it - supposedly - and she wanted to be a part of it.

"I don't know her. She wanted to introduce herself, and her son. That's all that happened."

Bellatrix stared at him, the anger slowly fading. Raven gazed back, wondering if anything about this woman made any sense.

"You left me," she whispered.

"I needed a moment alone."

"You didn't tell me."

A bit of truth, then. "I didn't think you'd let me."

"I thought I'd lost you," Bellatrix said. "I turned around, and you were gone. No one knew where you went, and I-"

Bellatrix started crying. Not great loud sobs, just a sudden burst of tears that hitched her breath and stopped her words. She turned away from him, hiding her face. Great big sobs would have been easier to watch. Those could have looked fake. Overdone. Those wouldn't have looked heartbreaking.

Raven blinked at her. He hadn't thought her capable of tears. It seemed too delicate … soft … for a woman like her. Bellatrix didn't cry. She made others cry and took savage joy in it.

"You disappeared," Bellatrix cried. "And I never thought I'd see you again. But, you're here, and I had you, but you disappeared, and I didn't know where you were. I thought-"

Fresh sobs cut off her words. She leaned against the balcony, head bowed. Her breathing shook. She _sounded_ devastated.

"I turned around, and you were _gone_."

He glanced around, looking for someone to help him, but there was no one. They were alone. How did anyone deal with a crying woman?

He sighed silently. "Bellatrix-"

She collapsed onto the stone bench beside her. Raven took a step forward before he could think about it. She was still crying.

"I'm Bella," she sobbed. "You call me Bella. You always have. Bellatrix did nasty things to you, but Bella loves you. That's what you said. _You_ said it."

Raven hesitated again. _She can't actually believe this. Can she?_

Bellatrix was insane, but surely not that crazy. He hadn't thought her this good though. He knew the truth, and the guilt was still beginning to gnaw at him.

"Bella," he managed, the word weird on his tongue after it almost choked him coming out.

The woman didn't look at him, hands covering her face. He could still see tiny droplets falling. Raven inhaled slowly, and crossed the balcony. He sat beside her. Bellatrix continued to cry.

"I'm … sorry," he said. "It wasn't my intent to scare you." He paused. "I don't like people, and too much of them is … difficult to handle."

Bellatrix wiped at her eyes, but she still looked leaky as she turned to him.

"Just tell me," she said. "I thought you were dead. For five years, I thought you were dead. Now, you're here, but you're not you." Her chin trembled, and she began crying again.

Raven did something he'd never done before. He hugged her. She clutched at him, burying her head in his shoulder.

"I just want my baby back." Her words were muffled, but Raven heard them. Was meant to hear them.

He held her as she cried, his skin not crawling at the contact. He stared out into the dark, not as unaffected as he appeared.

When she finally regained her control, Bellatrix dragged him back inside. This time, Raven didn't fight her grip. He couldn't handle more tears just then. Especially when he couldn't tell how real they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait for this chapter. I live in Oregon, and when I stopped updating, we were having those really bad fires back in October. I had family in danger zones, so I was more worried about their continued health, then writing. And then NaNoWriMo happened, which meant I was focusing on an original novel which I didn't complete (I did write 50,000 words though, so yay me?). Then, Christmas and all that hassle. Finally, in January, I got an idea for a podcast that I simply had to write before I lost it. If anyone is interested in what it's about, drop me a line and I will happily tell you about it.
> 
> As for this chapter, well, in the original version, this, and the next two chapters were one coming in around 6000 words. On the rewrite, it's looking to be about 3 chapters, each one at least 4,000 words. Lost more stuff is happening, and different people showing up. I feel like this had always been happening, but Raven just didn't say anything?
> 
> Anyway, enjoy. I'll try to get another chapter up within the week.
> 
> Allanasha


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Evan deserves his own warning. You have been warned.

Another hour passed before he needed a break. Instead of just vanishing again, he told Bellatrix. She gazed down at him with something very close to fear in her eyes.

_Did someone threaten her?_

But, she kissed his forehead and released him. "Don't be long," she told him. "I love you, Harry."

Raven just nodded, finally leaving her side. The fresh air on the balcony was a relief. It was cool compared to the press of warm bodies inside.

He leaned against the railing, eyes closed. His breathing remained even as he considered leaving, his tentative plan be damned. The emotional whirlwind that was Bellatrix Lestrange was impossible. He hadn't expected her to be the troublesome one.

If she was that attached to her role, he wouldn't be able to avoid her for long. She would constantly seek him out.

 _She'd be the one to take me to Diagon Alley._ He could get access to his vault. Fulfill his plans, and be on his way. She wouldn't be the one who got him his wand back, but he could survive without it. If he had to.

"Lost little kittens shouldn't wander off after just being found."

Raven jumped, whirling in place to catch sight of Evan Rosier. The man leaned against the doorframe, grinning. Raven hadn't heard him approach.

Rosier was dangerous. He'd always known that he was an opponent to watch for and be wary of. Now, he knew to watch what he said, even when he thought he was alone. Evan could sneak up on him.

"Kitten?" Raven asked. "I'm not young enough to be a kitten."

"You'll always be a kitten," Rosier said. "Always curious. Always poking your nose into things. Always making messes, and jumping to decisions. Always quick to fight, and always getting so very lost."

"From my experience, cats come and go as they please," Raven said. "They don't often get 'lost' until they choose to be."

Rosier's eyes lit up. _What did I do?_

To hide his unease, Raven leaned back against the balcony railing, eying the man before him. They'd never had any real interactions before, but everything he'd heard about the man made him uncomfortable. Rosier was not safe to be around, but he didn't know how to get away. The man stood blocking the only exit.

"Oh, they do," Rosier responded, smirking. "That's why muggles chip them, to find them if they run away or get lost, or are taken against their will."

"Fi they really want to get away, they won't be found easily."

Rosier shrugged, his look of amusement unfaded. "It may take years, but they're all found eventually. I once heard about a dog missing two years. He was found nearly 200 miles away."

Raven frowned. It felt like they were having two conversations. One absolute nonsense. The other dangerous. Which one did Rosier mean? His insanity was as well known as Bellatrix's, so this whole conversation could mean nothing. It could also be more.

"If it wanted to, it could just run away again."

Rosier tilted his head, his amusement still clear, but a new glint sparked in his eyes. Raven crossed his arms, gazing back. He would not be intimidated by Evan Rosier.

"Those chips only work if a cat, or dog, is actually found and reported. If the animal doesn't let itself be found, or someone doesn't check, then it won't be. And, it will never be returned."

"The smarter the animal, the better it's escape?"

Raven nodded, then jumped as Rosier threw his head back and laughed.

_Something is very wrong with this man._

"Perhaps that's true," Rosier finally said. "But a truly persistent master will always find them, no matter how long they wish to remain hidden." Rosier's smile was wide.

Raven frowned, the night air chilling around him.

"I'm confused," he said. "Are we still talking about animals?"

Rosier pushed off the doorframe, slowly prowling forward. Raven straightened, shifting to the balls of his feet. Whatever the man planned, he'd be ready for it. Rosier noticed. His stance changed, becoming more fluid. The hairs on the back of Raven's neck raised. Danger, everything whispered. Danger, the air warned.

Rosier stopped less than a foot away, gazing down at him. Raven stared back. Ready. Waiting.

"Humanity is just another animal," Rosier said, voice low, confiding. "It just believes its delusions of grandeur. Of all the animals, we are the only ones who hate because we can."

"Arguably, we love, too," Raven said, not missing the difference in their speech.

Rosier called humanity 'they', and 'it'. He separated himself. Raven included himself in their number, even if he'd lost his capacity to care.

"So does every animal," Rosier said. "But humanity is the only one who kills because it can."

"Animals kill too." It was a losing fight, but Raven found himself saying the words anyway.

"To eat," Rosier agreed. "To protect. To guard. Unless they've gone rabid, man is the only animal that kills because it hates. That has developed better ways to kill. That has strewn fields with rotting corpses useful for nothing."

Raven blinked. What did anyone say to that? How did anyone argue with crazy? He couldn't. So, he said nothing.

"Do you know what I see in your eyes tonight?" Rosier asked.

"What do you see?"

Rosier leaned forward, hands behind his back as though to appear less threatening. He failed.

Raven's hand eased for his knife. This close, he'd be able to hurt Rosier before dying. Scar him for life. Maybe he'd be more wary next time. Less cocky about his chances of success.

But, Rosier didn't do anything. He never touched Raven. Never drew his wand. He just hovered close, mouth inches from Raven's ear.

"Hate," he whispered. "There is hate in your eyes."

Then, Rosier pulled away, grinning like he'd discovered a secret treasure. Raven stared.

"Why would there be hate in my eyes?"

"Your stance is wrong."

Raven blinked. "What?"

_What does that have to do with anything?_

Rosier tsked softly. "Widen your stance."

When Raven didn't move, Rosier sighed and kicked his stance wider.

"Bend your knees more."

Not wanting more contact, Raven obeyed, though his confusion didn't abate any.

"Good," Rosier praised. "You're better able to move from here. You knew this before, but you've forgotten. Attack me."

"Why would I do that?" _He_ wasn't that crazy. Only a fool attacked Evan Rosier alone.

The man grinned wide as he stepped back, finally putting space between them. Raven didn't relax. Unlike Bellatrix, Rosier's brand of crazy was smart as well as ruthless. Relaxing around him meant death.

"You still move well," Rosier told him. "And you've remembered to come armed." His eyes flicked to where Raven's knife hid. "I want to know how much you've retained."

"Only a fool fights for no reason."

"We're not fighting. This is a test, Kitten."

"Why do you care?" Raven asked, feeling out the stance, which did feel more stable.

_Why show it to me? What does he gain from this?_

"It's a dangerous world," Rosier said. "Everyone should protect themselves from the predators."

"Is that what you are? A predator?"

"Oh no, Kitten," Rosier's smile closed, showing no teeth now.

For a moment, Raven couldn't breath. Something was very wrong with this man.

"I'm the monster under the bed, in the closet, hiding in the shadows to devour unsuspecting souls."

Rosier attacked.

Not with his wand. That would be too easy. He lunged for Raven, who dove to the side, narrowly missing the stone bench. He rolled, landing on his feet. The ballroom was safe. Right then, more of them wanted him alive. Someone would stop Rosier. Maybe.

Weight on his back sprawled him on the ground.

"Shouldn't have turned your back on me, Kitten," Rosier purred.

Fingers fisted Raven's hair, yanking backwards until his head was at an uncomfortable angle. He held a knife, the blade close to Raven's face. One wrong move, and he'd have another scar. But, Raven wasn't defenseless.

"The master wants you alive. He _desires_ your presence. But, are you worth the trouble?" There was darkness in his voice. A rough harshness which could have been excitement.

Pinned as he was, Raven's angle was bad. There was only so much he could reach, but as Rosier was distracted toying with him, Raven plunged his knife into the man's leg.

Rosier hissed, leaning low over Raven. It took him a moment to realize the man was laughing. He rolled off Raven, taking the knife with him. Raven rolled away, feeling the back of his robes sticking to his back.

Rosier's leg was cut wider than Raven thought he'd manage. Blood was everywhere, but the man didn't seem to care. He yanked the knife from his leg and turned it over in his hands. Raven, not quite feeling up to standing, slid farther away, his eyes never leaving the man before him.

_Wounded but still dangerous. And now, I'm unarmed._

"Good," Rosier grinned. "You shouldn't have let me pin you, but this would hinder most attackers."

"Most?"

"It wouldn't stop me." He ran his fingers over the flat of the blade, carefully wiping his blood from the metal. Then, eyes holding Raven's, he sucked it off. Raven blinked.

"Have you ever tasted your own blood?" Rosier asked.

"No." He'd been more concerned with keeping it inside his body.

"Tasting someone's blood is intimate," Rosier told him. More intimate than anything else we could ever do with someone."

"Are you saying it's better than sex?" The question was out before he could stop it.

Rosier arched an eyebrow. "Do you like sex?"

Raven's nose wrinkled. "Too messy."

Too much touching.

"And yet, you sit here, covered in my blood without a care."

"It's not the first time I've cut someone."

Rosier grinned. "It's not the first time you've had blood on you."

Raven shook his head.

"You've tasted blood."

That wasn't a question. He nodded. His last 'special' wasn't the first time he'd done it either. Just the most public.

"All muggles?"

Another nod.

Rosier tsked. "It's not the same. Muggle blood is flat. Tasteless. Dull. There is nothing to it. A wizard's blood …"

Rosier rolled to his hands and knees, crawling closer, dripping blood the entire way. Raven didn't back away. He couldn't have explained why, except the danger had left Rosier. For now, he didn't mean Raven harm.

Rosier settled before him, Raven's knife held between them like an offering.

"You want to be intimate with me?" Raven asked.

Rosier laughed. "Only if you're sharing yours."

Rosier raised the knife, blood side up. Raven hesitated.

"You've done it before," he prompted. "Tell me the difference between muggle and magic."

"It's blood. All blood is the same."

How did someone say no in crazy without instigating another attack? Could he? Was it worth the effort? Did he really want to taste Evan Rosier's blood?

"Prove it," Rosier challenged.

There was something in his eyes besides that quiet challenge. A test. A reckoning. Slowly, Raven ran his finger up the flat of the blade, gathering the cooling - though still warm - blood.

This wasn't the most bizarre thing he'd ever done, but it was the first time someone had offered up their blood to him. His eyes never left Rosier as he licked the blood from his finger. Rosier's eyes never left him.

It was different. Not the taste. Blood was blood, and it all had the same metallic taste. But, there was more than just blood. Little sparks of magic leapt around his mouth, connecting to his own magic, igniting it in a trembling of power.

Raven's eyes closed, allowing the liquid to sit on his tongue until the last sparks of magic faded. It was while he was riding those last sparks that Rosier cut him. He almost missed it, the pain almost nonexistent. He shuddered under the sensation, feeling something, fully, for the first time in years.

When he opened his eyes, Rosier held his arm up before him. Raven watched his own blood bead and trickled down his arm, sleeve pushed up to his elbow. Still in a half-daze, Raven didn't fight him. Following the silent directive, Raven licked at the small cut.

Those little sparks leapt through him again. His eyes slid closed, head tilting back to savor the feeling. Connecting to himself in a way he'd never managed before.

This time, when he returned, he was crying silent tears. He left them alone. They didn't matter.

"You understand now," Rosier whispered. "When the emptiness gets too much, you have away to fill it."

Raven inhaled slowly, remembering an earlier comment of Rosiers. "Did you … taste too?"

Rosier reached up, fingers gentle as he wiped the tears away.

"I don't want to kill you," he said, as though that were an answer.

 _Maybe it is._ Rosier only 'tasted' when he killed.

He glanced down. The cut on his arm was gone, but the blood remained. Rosier's wound was gone too, though he hadn't cleaned himself either.

Already the connection, the peace, the pain, was fading away, leaving the shell behind once more. The shell was better. The shell could handle Voldemort and the Death Eaters. The shell wouldn't break.

After another minute of silence, Rosier released him and stood.

"Come, Kitten. They'll be looking for you soon."

"The party is petty and dull," Raven answered, keeping his seat. "If they want to move on to my real reason for attending, I will willingly return. Until then, I'll stay here."

Evan's head tilted once more, eyes brightening in amusement.

"I'll inform the master then," he said. "You may not want to be on the ground when I return."

"Wasn't planning on it."

With a smirk, Rosier slipped back through the curtained doorway, leaving Raven to wonder how no one had heard anything.

Raven sighed, giving himself another minute before rising. His robes stuck to his back, blood drying in a mess he couldn't clean. He kept his sleeve pushed back, not wanting to spoil the inside more than he had to. Merlin alone knew how 'Mummy Bella' would do if she saw it.

He stretched out sore and stiffening muscles as he returned to the balcony railing. Leaning against it, he stared out at the immaculate lawn surrounded by flourishing forest. Details were difficult at night, so he couldn't tell what the trees were, or if they served some purpose other than providing privacy.

It didn't matter. Even if he wanted to get away, the fall would break a limb well before he got to cover. The thought was pointless, but persistent.

He closed his eyes, rubbing at his temple. He'd never been around Voldemort this long. The pain in his scar was quickly moving from an annoyance, to a problem he couldn't turn his attention from.

He breathed through it like he would a normal headache.

 _Why the song and dance?_ He wondered. _I feel welcomed, so why can't we move on to the real reason I'm here? I want to go home._

Because Voldemort wanted it, and he never cared that Raven was in pain. He enjoyed it when Raven hurt, so he was going to drag this on as long as he could.

_But, I'm done now. So, maybe …_

He sighed, opening his eyes. As movement caught his attention, Raven leaned over the railing to get a better look at the shadowed forest. There was nothing.

 _Animal?_ He wondered. _Or something more?_

But, nothing else happened. Slowly, his muscles relaxed again, and the pain in his head returned. Everything else was still tense and sore from his scuffle with Rosier. The only way to relieve it was stretching more.

He ran through a few gentle ones, hoping to knock something loose. When none of it worked, he grabbed the railing, pulling back and down. He only stopped when his back popped, and he felt everything around it loosen.

He let out a soft, relieved moan before pushing himself back to his feet, arching backward. Maybe something would pop now.

"Quite a kitten, to stretch so comfortably in someone else's territory."

 _Rosier._ Of course it was Rosier.

"This kitten has claws, or have you forgotten already?"

Rosier laughed, but as Raven turned, it was Voldemort who got his attention. The man arched an eyebrow, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. Still, it was better than what followed.

Raven had learned to recognize many things in his job. Among them, lust and desire. Both of which were present as Voldemort looked him over. Raven leaned against the railing, crossing his arms in an attempt to draw the man's attention to where it mattered.

Voldemort smirked at him. "You look good."

Raven shrugged. "Someone else bought it."

_And you saw me earlier already._

"You're the one wearing it."

Voldemort strode closer, sending fresh waves of torture through Raven's head. Raven doubled over, hissing to himself as he held his scar. It took a moment or two before he could breathe through the pain enough to rise. By then, Voldemort just looked concerned.

He hadn't approached more, though he hadn't retreated either, which proved how true that concern actually was.

"Are you alright?" Voldemort asked.

"My head is killing me," Raven asked. "Either show me the proof you say you have, or I'm going home."

"How?" Rosier asked.

"I'll walk."

"It's a long walk back to London."

"Rosier."

The sound of his name silenced the man, but his eyes still gleamed. Everything here was a game to him. To all of them, Raven realized, but Rosier couldn't hide it as well as others.

_Bellatrix even seems to believe it._

"I had hoped seeing familiar faces would trigger your memory," Voldemort told him.

"It hasn't."

"So I see." Voldemort sighed. "Severus should be done with the potion soon."

"Potion?"

"To get your memories back," Rosier grinned.

"To start the process," Voldemort corrected. "It will return a half dozen of your memories to you, and more should return over time."

_If that's true, then didn't they give it to Lockhart?_

"Come, Harry," Voldemort said, holding out a hand to him, palm up. "Let's get you your proof."

"I never put my hand on a burning stove," Raven said.

Slowly, Voldemort' fingers curled inward, and he lowered his arm. He was frowning again.

"I'll have Severus begin brewing your potion."

"What potion?"

"It mutes your pain," Voldemort said. "Which makes my presence bearable."

_Can anything actually do that?_

"You've said it helps, at any rate," he continued. "And, it will do until you begin to trust me again."

"Trust you?"

_What does that have to do with anything?_

Voldemort nodded. He appeared to have all the time in the world, which wasn't new, but he wasn't normally so patient with Raven. Or anyone, but especially Raven.

_I'm missing something. What am I missing?_

"The pain you feel is the lingering protection I … lessened several years ago," Voldemort said. "You don't trust me, yet, so it views me as a danger. The pain is a warning to get away from me. As you grow to trust me, it will fade."

What excuses would Voldemort make the longer it took? Or would he grow suspicious? Would his pain be the reason Raven was watched and guarded?

_It's just a few days. Let them take you to Diagon Alley, and then we won't have to worry._

"It's not just you I don't trust."

Behind Voldemort, Rosier continued to grin, flashing white teeth. Voldemort's chuckle distracted him. The dark lord didn't laugh. Not like this. This was almost pleasant, and it crawled up his spine.

Raven inhaled slowly, working to keep his expression level.

"They aren't connected as we are," Voldemort answered, voice lowering, sounding … intimate.

Raven frowned.

"Your protection only works against me."

"Why?"

Would he tell the truth?" Or would it be yet another lie meant to tie him closer? Tighter.

"Because I'm the reason you have it in the first place."

Raven blinked. _Not the whole truth, but not necessarily a lie. He's good at this._

Of course he was good. Voldemort had well over 50 years of manipulation experience. He could lie without lying; skirt the truth with any question; make anything think he cared. Right now, all that attention was on Raven.

"Now, come, Harry. You've waited long enough." He held out an arm to the door.

It took Raven a moment to realize he was supposed to go through first. It would put him closer to Voldemort, but was likely one of those signs of trust.

Raven didn't move.

"Evan, gather the others, you know where."

Despite being unseen, Rosier bowed, slipping through the curtain to complete his task. Voldemort stared at Raven. Raven felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise again, a warning he had to ignore. He stared back.

"I mean you no harm, Harry," He sounded sad. Raven hadn't known him capable of the sound.

"Our first encounter proved that false."

Voldemort sighed. "I apologize."

Raven blinked rapidly, unable to process the words for several seconds. Had the Dark Lord ever apologized to anyone before?

_If it served his purpose, probably._

"It's been five years since you vanished," Voldemort said. "You were thought to have betrayed and abandoned us. And then, to find you among muggles, right under our noses …" he shook his head. "Betrayal needs to be punished."

Raven nodded slowly. Even muggles punished their deserters and traitors. As far as he knew, they were thrown in jail, not tortured, but it was supposed to discourage others from doing the same.

"I have regretted it."

 _Liar_.

"You don't know what happened," Raven said.

"Neither do you."

"I could have betrayed you."

"You didn't."

"What makes you so sure?"

Why was Voldemort intent on proving Raven's innocence? What did he gain from this? There was only so much political leverage the name Harry Potter could give him. His excuse of amnesia meant his magical ability wouldn't be useful either. Why go through all this effort?

"Your betrayal came as a surprise to everyone," Voldemort said.

"Yes, you've said I was your most loyal."

"You were more than that." Voldemort paused, eying Raven. "You were the closest anyone has ever come to being my equal, Harry. That afforded you certain … liberties and privileges no one else has gained."

_What does that mean?_

"How's your scar?"

Raven blinked. "My scar?"

"Does it still hurt?"

He shrugged. "I'm growing used to it."

"May I approach?"

_Since when do you ask permission?_

"I won't touch you," Voldemort promised.

Seeing no other choice, Raven nodded once.

Voldemort approached slowly, as though Raven were a wild animal he suspected of bolting. As his muscles tensed with every approaching step, Raven realized it wasn't entirely inaccurate.

Thankfully, the pain in his scar didn't rise significantly with the small distance. Unfortunately, Voldemort stopped with less than a foot between them, mirroring an earlier action of Rosier's. If Raven moved wrong, he'd be the one initiating contact.

_Is that his hope?_

Raven uncrossed his arms, not wanting to look defensive, but also wanting his full range of movement should he need to do anything. Gazing up at the dark lord, the look in those eyes made him uncomfortable. The lust had hardened into something more while the desire had almost softened into …

"Malfoy - Lucius Malfoy -" Because he had met several Malfoys now. "-said I became disillusioned in my fifth year. Meaning I wasn't with you then. When did I join?"

"Part way through your sixth year, you sent a letter through Draco. I chose to accept you at your word, and brought you to me."

"For what?"

"Training. And to test your conviction."

"Would you have killed me?"

"Yes."

Raven blinked. His head was spinning from all the lies, but also hearing bits of truth under it all.

"I would not risk our goals if you were not who you claimed."

"But I was."

Voldemort grinned. "You were."

He reached out. Raven tensed further, but Voldemort didn't touch him. His hand hovered over Raven's head, barely moving hairs as it curled down over a shoulder and down an arm.

Raven could feel the warmth of his hand, but not the skin. And, that little inch of air kept his scar from exploding.

Just under his elbow, the warmth slid behind Raven's arm. Not wanting to risk being touched, Raven bent his arm. Voldemort's hand moved forward, keeping close enough to feel that warmth without ever actually touching.

"What are you doing?"

"Trust me."

 _Never_.

He had no choice, physically. He let Voldemort's almost touch raise his hand. 'I must not tell lies' was still etched clearly on the skin. Voldemort stared at it.

"I offered to kill her for you."

"Did you?"

"You would prefer her to live with the nightmares you inflicted on her."

"Sounds gruesome."

Voldemort laughed. "You gave her what she deserved. Dolores Umbridge was a toad of a woman who used what little power she had to lord it over everyone else."

"Sounds like a bully."

"Yes."

Voldemort's gaze returned to the words written on Raven's hand. "If it weren't for your words, I'd have killed her for daring to mark what is mine."

_I do not like this._

"Most of my scars seem to be because of you."

"Yes," Voldemort still stared at the words. "Those became a mark of strength and survival. Proof of your right to stand by my side."

_Phrasing. Watch your phrasing, or people will think-_

Raven's thoughts froze as Voldemort bent down. He still didn't touch Raven, but his lips came close. Each puff of breath ghosted across the back of Raven's hand. Voldemort's eyes rolled up, red meeting green as the dark lord almost touched him. Almost kissed him.

_No._

He suddenly realized what Voldemort was aiming for. It was impossible. It could - wouldn't - happen, but as Voldemort smirked at him, Raven realized the dark lord was going to try anyway.

_I won't be here long_ .

He wanted to take his hand back, but couldn't risk touching the man to do it. He wouldn't give Voldemort the pleasure of watching him run away.

So, despite the rapid beat of his heart, Raven held still. He allowed Voldemort to pull away first. Only then did he withdraw.

"We will get your memories back," Voldemort promised. "I'll make sure you remember everything."

Somehow, it sounded more like a threat than a promise.

"Come along, Harry, it's time."

This time, when Voldemort waved him forward first, Raven went. Anything to put some space between them. He felt Voldemort's eyes on him the entire way.

Despite that, by the time they reached their destination, Raven's heart had steadied. His nerves settled. All emotions which could have given him away vanished. He was as he had been the last five years.

Emotionless.

Empty.

As always, it was a comfort.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!


End file.
